I killed her

“No.”
“I’m already in the college, Mom! I shall be able to go out with my friends if I want to. You don’t have to overreact. I’m an adult now. I know what I’m doing!” I shouted.
“I said no, that’s final,” she calmly replied.
That’s it? Does she even care about me or about anything in my life? For Christ’s sake, she’s my mom! “So you want me to rot in this cursed housed all my life!? You’re heartless! You don’t even care about me, or about what makes me happy. Did you have me just so you have someone to do your chores and cry over your nonsense restraints? Is seeing me hurt making you happy? If so, then damn you!”
That’s it! I can’t take it anymore. All the frustration, the pain, the regrets of not being able to fulfil myself . . . all these boils down to this moment. I’ve had enough. She’s too much.
Mind emptied by a darkened heart, I went where my feet took me. The kitchen, I grabbed on my last resort. I have long thought about this, but have never had enough courage to do so. But I have now. So I let the blade do what it does best – slice.
Blood oozed on the floor as the frail body dropped. She’s crying. “Do you really think I feel happy knowing that I am the one who’s making you sad? I care about you, son. So much. I want you to be very happy. I really do. I am your mother; I just want what’s the best for you. All these restraints are because I am afraid of what might happen to you. I feel double your aches, thrice even. I bleed your scrapes. I flu your fevers. I die with your pains. . . but I never thought you’d end up killing me. I love you.”
That struck me hard but it came too late. Regret really comes last, I killed her . . . by killing myself.

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