"But first, you owe someone something that isn't mine to forgive," I interrupted.
"I'll help you."
The relief disappeared.
She looked at Greta and Amelia.
Then back at me.
"I already said I'm sorry."
"You haven't said anything to them," I pointed at the kids.
The relief disappeared.
Katherine opened her mouth, but Greta stepped away from the doorway.
"Dad, can we eat?"
It was not forgiveness.
It was not cruelty either.
It was Greta refusing to perform her childhood wound on the porch for a stranger who happened to share her face.
It was not forgiveness.
I moved aside.
"Come in, Katherine."
She entered carefully, as if the house might accuse her.
Dinner was already on the table.
Chicken soup, toasted bread, and apple slices because Amelia still liked something cold beside anything hot.
She entered carefully.
Katherine sat at the far end, beneath a family photograph taken at Greta's school concert.
