I touched my chest.
“Me.”
When I returned home months later, my children were different.
Or perhaps I was.
Karen called first.
She apologized.
Melissa admitted she had become too dependent on me.
David eventually paid back some of the money he owed.
Eric was the last.
One evening, he called.
“I was angry because I thought the house meant you’d always be there.”
I smiled.
“I am still your mother.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not your furniture.”
There was silence.
Then Eric laughed.
I laughed too.
It was the first time in years that we had laughed together without somebody needing something.
Six months later, I returned to Australia.
Not because Robert had sent me.
Not because my children had pushed me away.
Not because Arthur needed me.
I went because I wanted to.
That difference changed everything.
Arthur was waiting at the airport.
He was holding a cardboard sign.
