“He said that every single year.”
We stood there together, looking at the marks.
For the first time in a long time, we were remembering my father without arguing about what his life had meant.
Mom eventually turned toward Ethan.
“I can’t undo what I did to you.”
“No,” he said gently. “You can’t.”
She nodded, accepting the answer.
“But I can try to do better.”
Ethan looked at me, then back at her.
“That’s all any of us can do.”
After she left, I found him in the kitchen, washing the cups we’d used.
I stood beside him and dried the dishes.
“Do you forgive her?” I asked.
He thought about it.
“I don’t know if forgiveness is something you decide in one afternoon.”
I nodded.
“That’s how I feel too.”
He handed me a plate.
“Maybe we just see what happens next.”
I placed the plate in the cupboard.
