I stared at her for a second, my chest tightening. My mum wasn’t the type to break down. She was the type to hold everything together until it burst, like an overstretched rubber band. And right now, the rubber band had definitely snapped.

“Sorry for what?” I whispered, afraid of what she'd say next.

She didn’t speak immediately, just stared straight ahead, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. Her breathing hitched, and I could see her gathering strength—preparing to tell me the ugly truth she'd tried so hard to avoid.

“For everything,” she finally said, her voice low and raw. “For pretending this wasn’t happening. For not...