Her questions were familiar.
For a moment, I wondered whether she was simply returning to the only language she understood: money, risk, and control.
Then, one evening, she asked something different.
“Can I see it?”
I was sitting on the couch with my feet elevated, tired from a day of errands.
“You want to see the house?”
“Yes.”
I hesitated.
“Why?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Because I haven’t seen it in years.”
I waited.
“And because I owe Ethan an apology.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“I owe him an apology,” she repeated. “I should have apologized a long time ago.”
I didn’t rush to reassure her.
I didn’t tell her it was all right.
It wasn’t.
“Then you should tell him that,” I said.
“I will.”
“Not because he bought the house.”
“I understand.”
“Not because he’s successful now.”
“I understand, Olivia.”
I took a breath.
“Because you were wrong to believe you could decide whether he was worthy of marrying me.”
