Michaels Mess - 11. Chapter 11

I took Sarah and Roger to the park. Michael was sitting alone on a bench, his posture hunched. David stood a few feet away, watching the interaction with a mix of anticipation and concern. Roger and I lingered further back, giving Sarah the space she seemed to need.

As Sarah approached the bench, she hesitated, standing there for what felt like an eternity. I wondered what emotions were coursing through her mind—anger, sadness, confusion, or perhaps a lingering spark of the past. Would she forgive Michael? Or would she see him as the man who tore her life apart?

“You know, I could never resist that perfume, Sarah,” Michael said, a faint smile touching his lips. “I can still recognize it after all these years.”

Sarah’s eyes softened for a moment before her expression hardened. “Why are you here, Michael?”

“Please, come and sit,” I urged gently, feeling my heart race. “I don’t know if Nate told you, but I have cancer. It’s been a bit of a challenge.”

She walked around the bench, her gaze assessing me as if trying to reconcile the man before her with the memories she held. She saw the toll illness had taken on me—my gaunt face, the weariness in my eyes.

“You don’t look well,” she said softly, her voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m not. I do have cancer,” I replied, my voice steady but filled with pain. “I’m not lying about that, Sarah. Did the kids come?” I asked, my eyes searching hers for any sign of acceptance or understanding.

“No,” Sarah whispered.

“I understand. Sarah, I came to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did. I’m sorry for what my parents put you through. I’m sorry for the lies, for the deceit.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you’re sorry? You left us, Michael. You signed away all the rights to your children,” she continued, her voice barely holding together.

“After we split and went through the lawyers, I didn’t think you wanted to speak with me. I thought it would be easier for you—and the kids,” I replied, my voice strained.

“Easier? Easier!” Sarah exclaimed, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you know how much I had to pacify Shawn and Samantha? I was angry. I was upset. You turned my life upside down. I didn’t know what was real or not. Did you ever think of asking the lawyer if you could speak to me?”

“No,” I replied, my voice barely audible. “And I lost a lot. I lost you, I lost the kids. I lost Faith. I lost years. I let it slip away.”

“You never had me, Michael. You were off with some other… anyway, what now, Michael.”

“Nothing, now Sarah. I came to say my peace, to take responsibility for what I had done. For turning your life upside down. For abandoning you, Shawn, Samantha, and Faith. I’m not asking for forgiveness…”

“You won’t get it, Michael,” Sarah snapped, “You’re still manipulating things, even now.”

“No, Sarah. I’m not. I know I should have come sooner, and I wanted to… but I was never sure if I should. I know now that I should have.”

“Is there anything else?” Sarah asked, her voice cracking.

“No, that’s all. Sarah, I did love you. The children—the twins, Faith—they were conceived with love in my heart for you. I know after all I’ve done, it’s hard to believe, but it is the truth.”

“Truth? Michael, I don’t know what the truth is anymore between us. Was there ever truth in our relationship, or were you thinking of your lovers when we were together? Coming here now, all you’ve done is reopen old wounds.”

Sarah turned away, her shoulders firm. I reached into my jacket and pulled out a stack of worn, yellowed letters. “There’s something else,” I said softly, extending the letters towards her. “I wrote these over the years—letters to you and the kids. My way of keeping in touch, even when I couldn’t be there.”

She hesitated, taking the letters with trembling hands. “Still manipulating, Michael,” she whispered, but I saw a flicker of curiosity and hope in her eyes.

“No, Sarah. The decision is yours to do with these letters what you like. I would like it if you would give them to the kids, but I understand if you don’t,” I repeated gently. “I’d like for you to give these to Shawn, Samantha, and Faith. There are some there for you also.”

“Why now?” Sarah asked, as she glanced down at the letters.

“Because I want to make things right, in whatever way I can. I want the kids to know I loved them, despite everything. I don’t expect anything, just a chance for them to have my words.”

“Sarah, I am not expecting forgiveness. I’ve done a lot to hurt you and the kids–everyone. I can never take that back,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted the kids to have something—a piece of me that I couldn’t keep back all these years.”

“I understand they didn’t want to come,” I continued. “Maybe this can help them understand. Maybe it can help them heal, even if it’s just a small step.”

“I don’t know, Michael. I’ll have to think about it,” replied Sarah.

“Of course, I understand Sarah,” I said.

“I have to go, Michael,” said Sarah.

“OK. Thank you for meeting with me, Sarah,” I replied.

Sarah got up and walked away. She looked back at us one last time before turning and walking towards Nate and another man, leaving David and me standing in the afternoon sun, the echoes of our past still lingering between us.

Neither David nor I heard from Sarah after that day. Nate never called either. The silence was overwhelming, leaving us to grapple with the unresolved emotions and lingering questions on our own. Each day without a word from them deepened the void, making it harder to move forward. We tried to find solace in our routines, but the absence of their voices echoed the fractures we couldn't mend.

“David,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, “I hoped… I really hoped they would come.”

David squeezed my hand gently. “I know,” he said, emotion straining his voice. “You did everything you could, Michael.”

I shut my eyes, fighting a wave of anguish. “I spent so much time running. If I hadn’t… maybe they’d be here now.”

Memories flickered through my mind: the twins laughing in the backyard, how Faith must have toddled after her brother. I pictured them at the breakfast table, all bright smiles and possibility, and I wished I had known back then how precious and fleeting it all could be. If only I could tell them I’m sorry…

They’re never coming, he thought, his eyes drifting shut. I just wanted to say goodbye. That I’m sorry. That I love you, and always have, and always will.