Mom and Dad, Your Apology Came Too Late

My father left the stunned group of interns behind and hurried after me.

"The psychiatric hospital said you vanished after being admitted in critical condition. Julian, where have you been all these years?

"They said you stabbed yourself through the abdomen. Why would you do something like that to yourself?"

His eyes were red as he reached out to grab my arm, but the uneven, distorted texture beneath his fingers made him recoil as if he'd been shocked.

As I listened, not a single ripple stirred inside me.

I quickened my pace, unwilling to have anything to do with him.

"This is a public place. If you don't want people wondering what a lunatic like me has to do with the world-renowned Dr. Hill, then stop following me."

My voice was calm, as though I were speaking to a stranger.

Perhaps he was too used to being admired and respected. My indifference caught him completely off guard.

"Julian, are you still blaming us..."

When I was little, I had been my father's shadow. If I couldn't see him for ten minutes, I would cry.

After my depression became severe, I depended on my parents even more. I wouldn't go outside and see anyone. My mother and father were the only people I was willing to be around.

Just then, several doctors spotted my father and immediately gathered around him.

I was boxed in, unable to leave.

"Congratulations, Dr. Hill. You and your wife won another major award in the field of psychology. You're truly at the top of the profession.

"I heard your son just won another prestigious award with one of his early paintings. I'm so jealous of you for having such a gifted son."

My father's eyes darted toward me before he forced an awkward, guilty smile.

I merely glanced at my watch without the slightest expression.

"The credit belongs entirely to him," he said, his smile strained as he attempted to end the discussion.

But the others noticed nothing.

"By the way, isn't your son's wedding to the heiress of the Hartwell family scheduled for next month? Think we'll be lucky enough to get an invitation?"

My heart trembled.

The awards. The fiancée.

I looked down at myself. My T-shirt and jeans were faded and worn thin with age. A faint scent of livestock and damp hay still lingered on me, no matter how much I scrubbed.

Those things had nothing to do with me anymore.

The moment an opening appeared, I headed for the exit.

"Julian!"

My father shoved through the astonished crowd and hurried after me.

"I know you're still angry with us, but we really didn't have a choice back then... Your brother doesn't blame you anymore either. Come home with me."

A trace of guilt lingered in his eyes.

I ran a hand over my arm, tracing the hundreds of raised, mottled scars that covered it.

Each one marked a trip to the edge of death. Each one was proof of another emergency resuscitation.

They didn’t have a choice back then?

My brother didn’t blame me anymore?

What a joke.

At last, I reached the ward.

I let out a long breath, forcing the heaviness from my chest.

Bang!

I stepped inside ahead of him and locked the door behind me.

My roommate, who spent years fighting depression alongside me, stared through the glass window and was so shocked his jaw nearly dropped.

"Oh my God, isn't that Dr. Hill? Julian, since when did you know someone that famous in medicine?"

He jumped out of bed and headed for the door.

"Let him in. If you'd known him sooner, maybe you would've gotten better a long time ago."

As he passed me, I grabbed his wrist so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

"Don't open it."

If I had never known them, my illness would never have existed in the first place.