Showing Up While Hurting
Chapter 32 – Showing Up While Hurting
The first time Belle watched her mother cry over something that wasn’t a funeral, Belle didn’t know what to do with her hands.
She could handle anger.
She could handle scolding.
She could handle silence.
But her mother’s quiet tears–unannounced, untheatrical–made Belle feel like she was holding a cup filled to the brim.
One wrong move and everything would spill.
That was the thing about love-first parents.
They didn’t punish you.
They didn’t cut you off.
They just stayed.
And sometimes staying looked like pain.
After the ABIX planning session, Belle told Aleem she needed a week before the next family meeting.
Not because she was backing out.
Because she was learning the rhythm of all these moving parts.
Her ustazah sessions.
Her parents.
Aleem’s parents.
Work.
Her own fear.
Aleem nodded immediately.
“Okay,” he said. “We go at your pace.”
Belle exhaled.
The next day was Sunday.
Family day.
Belle went home early.
Not because her mother asked.
Because Belle had promised herself something:
Don’t disappear.
She reached her parents’ flat while her mother was still in house clothes.
Her mother looked surprised.
“Why so early?” her mother asked.
Belle shrugged lightly.
“Just… want to be here,” Belle said.
Her mother’s eyes softened.
She didn’t say thank you.
She said,
“Go shower. You smell like outside.”
Belle laughed.
“Okay,” Belle said.
Her father’s voice came from the living room.
“Okay,” he echoed, like he had heard the whole thing.
They ate lunch together.
Ordinary food.
Soup.
Vegetables.
Fish.
No pork.
Belle’s mother had quietly adjusted again.
Not as a complaint.
As participation.
Belle’s chest tightened every time she noticed it.
Her mother didn’t announce sacrifice.
She just cooked.
After lunch, Belle helped wash dishes.
Her mother watched her hands.
Then, casually, her mother asked,
“When is the next meeting with his parents?”
Belle’s stomach tightened.
“Not sure yet,” Belle said softly. “Maybe… in a week or two.”
Her mother nodded.
Then her mother said, voice too quiet,
“She really want to meet me?”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Mak.
Her awkward invitation.
The bridge.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” Belle said. “She said she doesn’t want you to feel left out.”
Her mother’s eyes filled immediately.
Belle froze.
Her mother turned away quickly, pretending to rinse a cup.
But Belle heard the change in breathing.
That small tremble.
Belle’s hands hovered over the sink.
“Mummy…” Belle whispered.
Her mother shook her head.
“I’m okay,” her mother said, voice tight.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother continued, still facing the sink,
“It’s just… I didn’t expect her to be… kind.”
Kind.
Belle swallowed.
Her mother’s voice cracked.
“I thought… I thought they would take you,” her mother whispered.
Belle’s throat tightened.
No.
Not take.
Not steal.
Not replace.
Belle stepped closer.
She didn’t hug immediately.
She remembered what Aleem had said.
Don’t solve emotions like a problem.
Just stay.
Belle stood beside her mother.
Close.
Present.
Her mother’s tears slipped.
She wiped them quickly with the back of her hand, frustrated.
“Sorry,” her mother muttered.
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Don’t say sorry,” Belle whispered.
Her mother’s shoulders shook once.
Then her mother forced herself to keep washing.
Belle swallowed.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Belle said softly.
Her mother’s breath hitched.
Belle continued, voice trembling,
“I know it hurts. I know. But I’m still your daughter. I still come home. I still eat your food. I still… call you when I’m tired. I still need you.”
Her mother’s tears fell more openly.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother finally turned.
Her face was wet.
Her eyes were red.
And the expression was not anger.
It was grief.
Grief for a future she had imagined.
Grief for a daughter she thought she might lose.
But her mother’s hands reached for Belle’s arms.
Not to push her away.
To hold her.
Her mother’s voice was thick.
“Okay,” her mother whispered.
Belle’s throat tightened.
“Okay,” Belle replied.
They stood in the kitchen, mother and daughter, holding onto each other like the world was shifting.
That evening, Belle and her parents went downstairs for a short walk.
The void deck was full of the usual Sunday sounds.
Kids playing.
People carrying groceries.
A neighbour shouting “Eh, auntie!”
Life.
Belle walked beside her father.
Her father’s hands were clasped behind his back.
He walked slowly.
As if giving himself time to think.
After a while, her father spoke.
“You told him,” her father said.
Belle blinked.
“Told Aleem?”
Her father nodded.
“The boundary,” he said.
Belle swallowed.
“Yes,” Belle whispered.
Her father’s voice was calm.
“He understand?” her father asked.
Belle nodded.
“Yes,” Belle said. “He keeps repeating it. He doesn’t want me to disappear.”
Her father exhaled.
Then he said, quietly,
“Good.”
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her father continued,
“You know last time… wedding plans… I watched you break.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father’s voice stayed steady.
“I didn’t know how to help,” he admitted. “Your mother cried in the room. I just… sit outside.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
Her father swallowed.
“When Aleem came,” her father said quietly, “he didn’t take advantage. He didn’t try to be hero. He just… show up.”
Show up.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father continued,
“That’s why I said… he can hold.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
Her father’s gaze stayed forward.
“And if he can hold, then… we try,” her father said.
Belle’s eyes stung.
Her father finally turned his head slightly.
His voice was low.
“But you also hold us,” her father said.
Belle froze.
Her father continued, calmly,
“You cannot run away because you feel guilty. You cannot avoid us because it’s painful.”
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her father’s voice softened.
“We are your parents,” he said. “We will hurt. But we will show up. So you also show up.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
Her father’s voice was quiet.
“Okay?” he asked.
Belle’s eyes spilled.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her father nodded once.
“Okay,” he replied.
The next meeting with Aleem’s parents was set for the following weekend.
This time, it wasn’t just Belle and Aleem.
It was both mothers.
A bridge moment.
Belle’s mother didn’t sleep well the night before.
Belle knew because her mother woke up earlier than usual and began cleaning things that were already clean.
Belle sat at the dining table, watching.
“Mummy,” Belle said gently, “it’s okay.”
Her mother’s hands paused.
Her mother forced a smile.
“I’m okay,” her mother said.
Belle’s father walked out of the room.
He looked at Belle’s mother.
Then he said, quietly,
“Okay.”
Belle’s mother’s eyes glistened.
She exhaled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Belle’s chest tightened.
They were doing it.
Showing up while hurting.
Not because it was easy.
Because it was love.
When they reached Aleem’s parents’ flat, Mak opened the door and froze when she saw Belle’s mother.
Mak’s expression flickered.
Not hostility.
Awkwardness.
The discomfort of adults trying to be gentle.
Mak recovered quickly.
“Hello,” Mak said.
Belle’s mother bowed her head slightly.
“Hello,” her mother replied.
Mak stepped aside.
“Come in,” Mak said. “Come, come.”
Belle’s mother stepped in.
She removed her shoes carefully.
Mak watched.
Then Mak muttered,
“Aiyo, no need so formal.”
Belle’s mother smiled weakly.
“I’m just… polite,” Belle’s mother said.
Mak nodded.
“Okay,” Mak murmured.
Ayah appeared.
He nodded.
“Hello,” he said.
Belle’s mother nodded back.
“Hello,” she replied.
The air was thick.
Not angry.
Just full of meaning.
Two mothers.
Two ways of loving.
Both worried.
Both trying.
Mak waved them toward the dining table.
“Sit,” Mak ordered. “Tea.”
Belle’s mother sat.
Her hands folded in her lap.
Belle sat beside her.
Aleem sat beside Belle.
Proper.
Mak brought tea.
Then Mak sat too.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Mak cleared her throat.
“You… Belle mother,” Mak said.
Belle’s mother nodded.
“Yes.”
Mak’s eyes flicked to Belle.
Then back to Belle’s mother.
Mak’s voice softened.
“Thank you for coming,” Mak said.
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled immediately.
She blinked fast.
Her voice came out thick.
“Thank you for inviting,” Belle’s mother replied.
Mak nodded.
Mak’s voice was awkward but sincere.
“I know… it’s hard,” Mak said.
Belle’s mother swallowed.
“Yes,” Belle’s mother whispered.
Mak exhaled.
“I also mother,” Mak said, like that was her whole argument. “I also worry.”
Belle’s mother’s tears slipped.
Belle’s mother wiped them quickly.
Mak frowned.
“Aiyo,” Mak muttered. “Don’t cry. Later I also cry.”
Belle’s mother let out a small, broken laugh.
It was the first laugh.
Small.
But real.
Mak’s expression softened.
Ayah watched quietly.
Then Ayah said calmly,
“We don’t want take your daughter.”
Belle’s mother’s breath hitched.
Ayah continued,
“We want add family. Not break.”
Add family.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Her mother’s shoulders shook.
Belle reached for her mother’s hand under the table.
Her mother squeezed.
Mak’s voice was quieter now.
“You can still see her,” Mak said. “You can still call her. You can still… scold her.”
Belle’s mother laughed again, watery.
Mak nodded, satisfied.
“Yes,” Mak said. “Scold is love.”
Belle’s mother wiped her face.
Her voice was thick.
“I don’t want to lose her,” Belle’s mother whispered.
Mak’s face softened.
“We also don’t want lose our son,” Mak replied.
The symmetry hung in the room.
Both of them holding the same fear.
Different languages.
Same pain.
Ayah’s voice was calm.
“Then we help them,” Ayah said. “We don’t pull.”
We don’t pull.
Belle’s throat tightened.
Belle’s mother nodded shakily.
“Okay,” Belle’s mother whispered.
Mak nodded.
“Okay,” Mak echoed.
Two mothers saying okay.
Not because they were suddenly happy.
Because they chose to stay close.
Because they chose not to punish their children for falling in love.
Belle sat there, holding her mother’s hand, and felt something shift in her chest.
This was what integration looked like.
Not grand speeches.
Not dramatic acceptance.
A mother crying at a dining table.
Another mother saying, awkwardly, I also mother.
And both of them deciding:
We will show up.
Even while hurting.
After they left, in the lift down, Belle’s mother leaned against the wall.
Her eyes were tired.
But her hand was still holding Belle’s.
Belle whispered, “You okay?”
Her mother exhaled.
“I’m not okay,” her mother admitted.
Belle’s chest tightened.
Her mother looked at Belle.
But her gaze was gentle.
“I’m not okay,” her mother repeated. “But… I’m here.”
Belle’s eyes burned.
“Okay,” Belle whispered.
Her mother nodded.
“Okay,” she replied.
Belle’s father was waiting downstairs.
He had insisted on staying outside, giving the mothers space.
But when Belle’s mother walked toward him, her father stood.
He looked at her.
His voice was quiet.
“Okay?” he asked.
Belle’s mother’s eyes filled again.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Her father exhaled.
Then he said, soft and steady,
“Okay.”
Belle watched them and felt the sharpest gratitude.
Not for perfect peace.
But for love that refused to abandon.
For parents who chose closeness.
For a future built by showing up.
Even while hurting.