He stared at me.
“Why?”
“Because you still loved me and went anyway.”
He had no answer.
I wiped my face.
“Dad told me you came back once.”
Carl nodded.
“Ten months later.”
“He told you to leave.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I left.”
“For another twelve years.”
His shoulders slumped.
“I know.”
“My father stopped you one time.”
I looked directly at him.
“What stopped you every time after that?”
Carl met my eyes.
“Me.”
That answer, at least, I believed completely.
He did not blame Dad.
He did not blame grief.
He did not blame the doctors.
He did not blame me.
He finally understood that after the first closed door, he had been the person choosing silence.
“When Lily asked why you didn’t come home, do you know what I told her?”
Carl shook his head.
“I told her you were hurting too.”
His face crumpled.
“I protected you.”
“Olivia…”
“I was furious with you, and I still protected you because our daughter had already lost enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
He looked almost surprised.
“I believe you’re sorry.”
Then I shook my head.
“But regret does not raise a child.”
He lowered his eyes.
