Game of Confessions

As everyone gathered, my husband's former flame and my daughter's psychotherapist, May Lowe, stood up, looking sharp in her white suit as she announced mildly, "Thank you everyone for coming. We're here for my best friend, Holly Summer.

"Since her daughter Nana died, she has been overcome with grief, and it hurts me to see her like that. That's why as a psychotherapist, I want to help her by having a game of confessions. Everyone will share a story about Nana—something you regret and feel lingering guilt over.

"Then, you will ask Holly for forgiveness, and those bittersweet moments will help Holly truly overcome her grief."

May then turned to my husband, Josh Graham, her smile as pure as an angel. "What do you think, Josh?"

Josh's eyes had been glued to her the whole time as he smiled lovingly. "Sure, you're the professional here."

Molly pouted at him before turning to me, "What about you, Holly? Is this okay with you?"

"Of course," Josh answered before I could. "You're doing this for her sake, and we all know that."

Everyone else murmured in approval.

"Yes! Dr. Lowe means well. We know that!"

"Let the games begin! Can't wait!"

I kept my head down, fiddling with my fingers at the edge of the crowd, refusing to take off my jacket despite the room heater turned on full blast.

Soon, the games began.

The first to confess was Mrs. Garcia, the maid I paid generously. "I really regret not taking Nana's temperature when she had a really bad fever because I was slacking off and napping.

"She almost sustained brain damage, but Dr. Lowe arrived in time to feed Nana medicine, and she was much better the next day."

Before I could say a word, May was smiling magnanimously. "It's alright. Everyone makes mistakes—it's fine as long as no lasting harm is done."

And with that, she extended forgiveness in my stead.

I shuddered ever so slightly, my mouth feeling like a rusted machine that took effort to activate. "Fever? During Thanksgiving?"

I was visiting my in-laws' home far beyond the city a day before Thanksgiving, as they said they wanted my homemade cookies.

When I finally came home, I found May mildly scolding Mrs. Garcia for neglecting her duties and letting Nana catch a high fever—that if it wasn't for her, Nana would have suffered lasting brain damage.

I had been endlessly grateful to May as I listened to them from behind the door, but it was also not long after that she diagnosed Nana as a sociopath who hallucinated often.

"Yes," Mrs. Garcia replied, nodding. "You were away, ma'am… And I've been a maid for so many years, but I've never met another family doctor so dutiful. She was sitting by Nana's bed, feeding her so much medicine… It's like she's more of a mother to Nana than you are."

Everyone stared at me right then in the ensuing awkward silence.

I didn't look up, quietly holding the clay ring in my hand.

It wasn't the first time I heard such things, as I'd been labeled as a failure since the day May came to us.

A failure of a wife, lacking May's looks, elegance, and empathy.

A failure of a mother, visiting Josh's parents when Nana was sick and needed her mother most.