Chapter 20: The Day She Didn't Apologize
1447 Words
Fall Crept In
The first snowbirds trickled into town.
Florida had its own version of fall. It was subtle.
The mornings turned brisk.
The afternoons softened.
Windows remained open longer, allowing cool air to breeze through the house.
Becca leaned against the kitchen sink. She rinsed breakfast dishes while the kids scrambled to get ready for school.
It was chaos like any other morning; filled with backpacks, misplaced shoes, and flurries of last-minute homework assignments.
“Mom!”
The youngest cried from upstairs.
“I can’t find my library book!”
“Did you look under your bed?”
Silence.
“...No.”
“Good place to start then.”
Thirty seconds later—
“I FOUND IT!”
Becca smiled to herself.
Nothing changed.
Cue the Bakery Rush
The bakery was busier than normal that morning.
Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and people bustled through the door requesting pies, dinner rolls, and cookie trays.
Linda surveyed the line forming near the register.
“Rebecca, would you mind ringing up?”
“Sure thing.”
She spent the next hour and a half smiling and greeting customers while boxing pastries and answering the same questions for what felt like the hundredth time.
By noon, her feet hurt. But she loved every minute of it.
There was something comforting about jobs with a clear beginning, middle, and end.
Jobs that didn’t repeat uncomfortable moments repeatedly again…
Like so much of her past had.
Cake Gaffe
Shortly after lunch, a customer walked up to the counter with a cake box in hand.
Becca recognized her immediately.
Mrs. Holloway. Regular customer.
The woman placed it gently on the counter.
“This isn’t what I expected.”
She lifted the lid.
The cake was professionally decorated, but the writing was slightly askew.
Not ruined. But not perfect.
“I’m so sorry,” Becca began reflexively.
Then she stopped herself.
Her brain caught up with her mouth. She looked down at the cake again.
“It’s not ruined.” She said evenly.
“But I can fix the lettering for you if you want.” She continued. “Absolutely free of charge.”
Mrs. Holloway smiled.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you.”
“No problem at all.”
Two minutes later, the cake looked flawless.
And the customer happily walked out.
Linda watched the entire exchange from the back of the bakery.
When the door shut behind Mrs. Holloway, she grinned at Rebecca over her shoulder.
“What?” Becca said with a shoulder shrug.
“You almost apologized.”
“I did?”
“But you didn’t.”
Becca blinked at her.
“I didn’t.”
Linda leaned against the counter separating the bakery from the kitchen.
“You remedied the situation.”
“I didn’t apologize for existing.”
Hit and Run
That night, Becca ran to the grocery store after work.
She only had a few items on her list.
Milk.
Eggs.
Butter.
Flour.
She stretched to grab a carton of milk from the bottom shelf when another shopper bumped her cart from behind.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” The woman exclaimed.
“It’s fine,” Becca smiled.
She continued walking. About half a shelf down, she paused.
She didn’t apologize.
Not because she did something wrong.
She hadn’t bumped into another shopper. In fact, the woman had bumped into her.
No. She hadn’t apologized because that’s what she would’ve done years ago.
Before now.
Instantaneously, even if someone else was wrong.
That thought followed her home.
Doctor's Orders
Becca sat down for her weekly counseling appointment, and Dr. Parker smiled at her before she even sat down.
“You look different today.”
“I do?” She asked, confused.
“You seem lighter somehow.”
She chuckled.
“I think I had a really strange win this week.”
Please tell me,” Dr. Parker urged her.
“I didn’t apologize.”
Dr. Parker grinned knowingly.
“What happened?”
And Becca told her.
About the bakery.
About the grocery store.
Small moments she hadn’t even realized until now.
When she finished, Dr. Parker nodded slowly.
“You know what that is?” she asked.
“A victory?” Becca asked cautiously.
“For clients who’ve spent years trying to avoid conflict at all costs…” Dr. Parker rubbed her hands together.
Apologizing becomes a mechanism for keeping yourself safe.
Becca sat there, absorbing her words.
“So, every time I apologized…”
“Unnecessarily? Yeah.” Dr. Parker gave her confirmation.
“It was me trying to keep myself safe.”
Becca nodded enthusiastically.
Dr. Parker smiled at her warmly.
“And every time you hesitate to apologize…”
“You’re training yourself not to.” She finished for Becca.
“How?”
“Reminding yourself that you don’t ever have to apologize for taking up space. You belong wherever you are.”
Those words echoed in her mind as she left her doctor’s office that day.
You belong wherever you are.
Family Dinner
The kids and Craig gathered around the kitchen table that night for dinner.
Craig had grilled chicken.
The oldest had mashed potatoes.
The middle child made salad (“Because Ranch dippers are unhealthy!”).
The youngest proudly served up eggs Nugget had collected that morning.
“The prettiest eggs in America, Momma!”
Craig nodded sagely.
“I’m sure she is.”
The youngest chatted nonstop that dinner about her findings as she gulped down sweet tea.
About halfway through her meal, she banged her glass over, sending liquid everywhere.
“Oh no!” She yelled, slapping her hands over her face.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Instinctively, Becca grabbed her hands.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“But I made a mess.”
“No, you didn’t. We’ll clean it up.”
Her daughter paused, eyes wide.
“Are you sure Momma’s not mad?”
“No,” Becca assured her.
“Nope.” Craig jumped up from his seat, towel in hand. “And even if we were,” he said, wiping at the counter, “This table has been here longer than she has. We can survive a little mess.”
Her daughter giggled happily.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
Grabbing her husband’s hand, they began to clean up together.
As they worked, Becca felt a tightness in her chest.
Looking down at her youngest daughter, she saw herself.
She saw younger Becky.
Apologizing for things before anyone was angry.
Trying so desperately to make herself smaller.
Trying so desperately to disappear.
Slowly, she lowered herself to sit next to her daughter on the floor.
“Sweetheart?” She said softly.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“You should only apologize if you’ve been mean.”
Her daughter screwed up her face.
“But... not accidents?”
“Nope.” She shook her head.
Craig leaned over, whispering something in her ear before handing her a cleaning cloth.
She smiled at him gratefully.
He knew.
Writing My Prescription
Becca sat down that night after everyone settled in bed with the journal her doctor had encouraged her to keep.
She stared at the blank page for several long minutes before picking up her pencil.
Dear Younger Me,
I know it’s taken me a while, but I think I’m finally beginning to understand something you’ll never know.
You thought peace could only be achieved by keeping everyone else comfortable.
You thought you could prevent any pain by simply saying “I’m sorry” before anyone else even realized they were hurt.
Sometimes that worked. For a while.
But what you didn’t realize was that you also taught yourself that everything was your fault.
It never was.
You were never too much.
Not too emotional. Not too sensitive. Not too difficult to be around.
You were just trying to survive.
The best way you knew how.
But you don’t live there anymore, kiddo.
You can put that weight down.
You don’t have to say those words anymore.
Words that taught you to apologize simply for taking up space.
You are welcome here.
Love,
The woman you grew into.
She licked her fingers and stared at the page for a long time.
Outside, the moon cast a warm glow through the front porch light.
It landed on the dusty chicken coop in the backyard.
Inside were four hens.
Sleeping soundly.
Upstairs, three children slept peacefully in their beds.
And in that house sat a woman who used to apologize for simply breathing.
But tonight was different.
Breathing felt new.
Healing didn’t always have to scream from the mountaintops.
Sometimes…
It whispered.
In the things we didn’t say.
- Writer
