I sank onto the bench. Lily sat down next to me.
“I couldn’t undo it,” she said. “So I made her a dress. I gave her the one thing I can never replace.” She wiped her face. “It’s not even close to enough.”
“It wasn’t enough,” Annie said gently. “After the concert, I told you a dress couldn’t erase what you did.”
“I gave her the one thing I can never replace.”
“I thought that meant it was over,” Lily whispered. “That I should just disappear.”
Nobody spoke.
The train had gone. A thin sun was rising over the tracks.
Then Annie slowly took off the blue cardigan and put it around Lily’s shoulders herself.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“This is yours,” she said.
“Annie…”
“Forgiving you doesn’t mean pretending it never happened. I’m still angry. I might be for a long time.” Her voice shook, but she held Lily’s eyes. “But I’ll give you a chance to make it right. I’ll see you at school.”
Marissa gave me a small, tired nod. The two of them walked back to the car and left us alone.
I pulled my daughter into my arms. She folded against me like she was small again.
