That was what made it precious.
For decades, Anna had lived in a home where ordinary mistakes could become reasons for anger.
I wanted her to discover that our home could be different.
If she dropped a plate, I picked up the pieces with her.
If dinner was late, we ate later.
If she forgot something, I reminded her without making her feel foolish.
At first, she seemed almost confused by the absence of consequences.
One afternoon, she accidentally spilled coffee across some papers on the dining table.
She froze.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I should have been more careful.”
I grabbed a towel.
“It’s only coffee.”
“I’ll clean it up.”
“We’ll clean it up.”
She stared at me.
Then she began wiping the table with hands that trembled slightly.
I did not make a speech. I did not tell her she was safe a hundred times.
I simply cleaned the table beside her.
