NOVEL NEXT Chapter 62: Forgive for yourself
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Vera: If you don't know you know something, try teaching it. Then you'll know for sure either way.
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Sol 495 FY 26, 10:53 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, the Forum
The cafeteria smelled faintly of yeast rolls and copper piping. Its high stone ceiling—vaulted, to support the weight of the crater floor high above—caught the light from embedded panels. Colored diodes projected angled beams across the stonework, casting amber and lilac glows that reminded Marie, not for the first time, of stained glass.
She sat cross-legged on the bench near the back wall, comb in one hand, a band of moss-green elastic in the other. In front of her, perched with absolute trust on an adjacent bench, was six-year-old Madi—hair freshly washed, damp curls springy as she fidgeted in place.
"Hold still," Marie murmured.
"I am!" Madi protested, legs swinging.
Marie smiled wryly and began the braid again. This time, tighter. Focused.
Madi had started calling her "Aunt Marie" last year, unprompted. No one had corrected it. Marie never would. She was now 'Aunt' to almost a dozen little girls and boys, and none of them would be getting a word of complaint from her.
"Are you sad today?" the girl asked without turning. "Your face is all puffy."
Marie's hands stilled for a moment. Then resumed.
"A little."
"Because of your boyfriend?"
Marie nodded, though Madi couldn't see. "Yes, Madi. Sometimes that happens when two people care about each other. If you're not careful."
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There was quiet between them—only the gentle hum of air vents and the low conversations echoing across the cavernous room. Cooked beef and beans steamed gently over warmers, filling the room with a hearty, homey aroma. Little Madi's hair smelled like coconut and vanilla, lightly clashing with the broader texture of the room. The little girl fidgeted—a signal that Marie was taking too long.
"You know," Marie said thoughtfully, "when someone hurts you and they say 'I'm sorry,' a lot of people think that means you have to stop being upset. Or that you have to forgive them right away."
"You don't?" Madi asked.
"No." Marie gently tugged a stubborn knot free. "You forgive someone so you don't carry the heavy thing inside anymore. That part is for you. Not for them."
It was almost a shame Marie was braiding her hair—the dawning comprehension in Madi's eyes was part of the fun of moments like this.
"So… what's the 'I'm sorry' part for?"
Marie smiled, a little pained, but proud. "That part's for them. It's their chance for saying they understand they messed up. That they won't do it again."
Madi was quiet. "Did your boyfriend say that?"
"Some of it," Marie paused, careful not to overshare with her six-year-old audience. "But not the part where he shows he won't do it again. Not yet."
"Did you tell him he's got to? I always tell Mica he's got to listen and be quiet." She twisted to look at Marie, then declared: "Sometimes boys are STUPID."
Marie composed herself—the sudden urge to smile was unexpected and welcome, but that wasn't quite what she wanted to encourage in the younger girl.
"I wouldn't say that," she gently corrected. "But I am working on the forgiveness part, anyway. For me. Because forgiveness isn't fair. It's not supposed to be about being fair, or it wouldn't be forgiveness; it would be something called restitution. That's when you make something wrong right by balancing the scales and making things fair."
The braid was finished—tight and even, twin to the dozen more Marie had already completed. Marie tied it off and smoothed Madi's shoulders.
"Not that restitution doesn't have its merits, it's just not for relationships that you aren't willing to lose."
The girl turned, blinking up at her. Some of that had gone over her head. "I really hope you get less sad."
Then Madi hugged her. Fiercely, sincere like only children can be. Her world was so … simple. It was refreshing.
Marie closed her eyes for a moment and let it wash through her. The hug. The lights on the ceiling. A snapshot from a life spent meaningfully. She was complete in of herself, and did not need to focus on anything missing. This moment was about two little warm arms, and home.
"Thanks, sweetheart," she whispered.