Pretending years of pain could disappear with one apology would have been easier still.
But real wounds don’t heal the moment they’re acknowledged.
“I needed you,” I said.
“I know.”
“You watched him humiliate me.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe I was difficult for wanting respect.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I know.”
She offered no excuses.
She didn’t blame my father’s childhood.
She didn’t insist he loved me in his own way.
She didn’t ask me to understand him.
For the first time in years, she gave me complete honesty.
“I don’t know what happens next,” she said. “But I’m going to speak with an attorney. And with the investigators. If your father used my charity work for fraud, I need to know.”
I squeezed her hand once.
“Good.”
She looked toward Ethan.
“He is a good man.”
“Yes,” I answered. “He is.”
