Echoes of Orange Jam- Childhood betrayal - Naked truth chapter 28

Journey of Memory, Healing, and the Unexpected Embrace of Love

Photo by Grégoire Bertaud on Unsplash

END OF JANUARY

Is it still January? It seems like it. Martha picked up a teaspoon of orange jam—not marmalade, as she used regular oranges—nothing wrong with them at all. The taste is still bittersweet, just like life itself. The color, for whatever reason, is darker, but Martha doesn’t remember if it's because of the coconut sugar she used months ago or because she left the pot on the stove for too long. Is it edible? Of course! This is the last jar of the batch.

She glanced out the window, one hand gently caressing a beautiful mug she found during one of her creative musings in a charity shop. She loves earthy-looking mugs, the kind that might have been made by hand by an artist. Odd ones, with bold designs oozing authenticity.

TAI CHI AND THE SABRE

Charity shops! Suddenly, she felt a tightness in her jaw and remembered yesterday's trip to a charity shop in town after a satisfying and empowering Tai Chi class.

The feeling she experiences while holding the sabre or the sword (I have to confess, the sabre feels even better because of its primitive, strong feel and impact) is something she cannot explain! It's a combination of revenge and empowerment, and it sits so well with the unexpressed feelings inside her.

One cannot hide from a sabre; one cannot be proper as society expects or silent as she has had to be most of her life, hiding the traumas inflicted upon her by the one who had a duty of care.

No, there is no hiding—only a delicious expression of emotions brought by a wooden, decorated symbol of revenge and fairness.

But I digress, she whispered to the mug!

ELIZABETH PETERS

In the background, she decided to listen to The Mummy Case by her beloved Elizabeth Peters. What a writer! What a woman! What a character she created! In Martha’s tower of fame, Amelia Peabody sits at the same table as Hercule Poirot!

Another digression… Stop it, Martha! Stick to today’s story! Okay, okay.

We’re back in the Heart Foundation charity shop on a nice afternoon, after a very happy Tai Chi class. And then… she saw, on one shelf, a little orange fluffy toy. Suddenly, she felt like Alice in Wonderland, falling down a tunnel… falling onto soft grass, surprisingly next to a young fawn, a rabbit, and a wolf cub. Their eyes were wide open. They could see her dilated pupils, the flutter of her heart, the rapid breathing—and one by one, they cuddled up next to her, licking her tears, warming her body with theirs, and listening to her story…

CHILDHOOD BETRAYAL

“At age seven, I returned from the seaside with my father. We had stayed at a traditional bed-and-breakfast, and while there, my mother called. I answered the phone. She asked if Marietta and her daughter were there too, and I said yes. Then she demanded to speak with my father. Later, I learned that Marietta was my father’s mistress and apparently a family friend, one of my father’s colleagues.

I don’t remember much else from the trip, but I will never forget the evening we came back. My mother started chasing my father around the living room table, shouting, “I’m going to kill you!” The air felt heavy, filled with her fury and my terror. I screamed at the top of my lungs, overwhelmed and frozen with fear.

There’s a detail burned into my memory: a small orange fluffy toy on top of the massive mirror on the wall, silently witnessing everything. Even now, as I write, I feel tightness in my chest, my breathing shallow, as though I’m back in that moment.

I could almost see myself trapped between them—so small, yet desperately trying to stop her from striking my father. His voice, sharp and frantic, pierced the air: “Are you insane?” “What are you doing?” It was a voice filled with terror. Her face twisted in rage, her words shattering the silence like broken glass, cutting through the air and my heart at the same time. She didn’t care that I was there, vulnerable, caught between them. Her fury was overwhelming, like a wild, uncontrollable beast—a dragon on a rampage, a Rottweiler unleashed. The memory of her face, so contorted by anger, will haunt me forever, for it was the first of many such encounters.

I ran to the door, flung it open, and screamed into the staircase for help. Nobody opened their doors. Desperate, I climbed to the second floor, where one of my mother’s colleagues lived. Ms. Mariana answered and followed me upstairs. When we returned, my mother was trembling in a frenzy. Ms. Mariana gave her water with sugar and a pill called Rudotel.

But nobody asked how I was. Nobody picked me up, wrapped me in their arms, or told me everything would be okay.

Because it wasn’t. And deep down, I knew it never would be.”

ONLY A DREAM?

A part of her could see and feel her talking, but the words were slow. She was so sleepy and tired, and she felt cozy and warm, surrounded by so much love. She fell asleep, surrendering to the tiredness and the unconditional love coming from her guardians—the fawn, the rabbit, and the wolf!

Martha opened her eyes .. did she fall asleep? The coffee was cold in her mug, orange jam finished, the fawn, the rabbit, and the wolf were gone now, but their presence lingered, a reminder that healing comes in many forms, and sometimes, it’s found in the most unexpected places!

Until next time, be well!

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