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The Apology
The next morning, I went back before my son left for work. I knocked gently. She looked nervous but let me in.
I sat down and said quietly:
Her face crumpled as tears spilled over. “I feel like I’m letting everyone down,” she whispered.
I reached for her hand. “You’re not failing. You’re hurting—and that’s different.”
Slowly, she opened up about the fear, the exhaustion, and the pressure she put on herself. She talked about the shame of not being the cheerful new mom she thought she should be.
I listened—really listened. And with every word, my guilt deepened.
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