She looked older than I remembered. For the first time, she seemed uncertain about what to say.
“I know you don’t owe me forgiveness,” she began. “I was afraid of losing my son, and I did things I can’t defend.”
I waited.
“I can’t change what happened with Elaine or his father. But I can stop trying to control what happens next.”
It wasn’t a perfect apology.
But it was the first one that didn’t ask me to excuse her.
I told her I was willing to see what the future brought, but I would never accept money, guilt, or threats as the price of belonging in Ryan’s life.
She nodded.
We didn’t become close.
Perhaps we never would.
But we reached an understanding.
A year after the afternoon Patricia offered me fifty thousand dollars, Ryan and I finally married.
It was a small ceremony. My mother sat in the front row. Elaine sat beside her, holding a handkerchief and smiling through tears.
