One of the worst things a mother can say to her children is that she never loved their father. It will rip the children’s heart apart and make them question everything.

I was eleven when my mother told me.

In front of her, I acted like it was no big deal. But something inside of me broke that moment. And I don’t know if I managed to fix it again, even all those years later. What can be more terrible than to learn that your beautiful, perfect, loving and caring mother never experienced real love? How will you, when she didn’t?

Suddenly, I remember something that my grand-mother had told me many years before. "If you are searching for a husband, you can’t be searching for love. Love is complicated and can’t be planned; it is fragil and can be broken too easily. You have to look for a loyal man who cares for you and your children, accepts you the way you are, and has similar expectations of the future. Your grandfather was perfect in that way.“

But can this be enough? Should this be enough? Isn’t our whole existence built on this search for true love?

Isn’t it more important to fall in love and enjoy every second of it? To be truthful with yourself even if it won’t be the easier way? It took me a long time to realize this, but I am grateful for that moment, those seconds it took my mum to spit out the truth. Because now I have a real chance, an opportunity to do things differently. To rewrite history and to make the right decision when it will be my turn to decide. To say:

“I love you."

and to really mean it.