Chapter 12 - Margaret Had Her Own Version
I did not speak directly to Margaret for four months.
Then her attorney requested a mediated conversation as part of a possible resolution.
My attorney said I did not have to agree.
I surprised myself and said yes.
Not because I needed an apology.
I wanted to hear whether Margaret could describe what she had done without converting me into the cause.
We sat in separate rooms at first.
Then one room when I agreed.
Margaret looked older.
No jewelry.
Simple navy sweater.
She stared at my wrist.
The brace was gone.
“I’m glad you're better.”
“I'm still in physical therapy.”
Her face tightened.
“I'm sorry.”
I waited.
She continued.
“I should not have pushed you.”
Clear enough.
Then:
“But I need you to understand—”
I almost laughed.
Margaret saw.
Stopped.
Her attorney looked uncomfortable.
I said:
“You can explain. Just don't replace the sentence you already said.”
Margaret nodded.
She described the morning of the fall.
She had packed two boxes because she believed I was forcing her out.
She called Jason.
He promised they'd talk.
Then I told her she needed a move-out date.
“I felt humiliated.”
I said nothing.
“I had sold my home.”
“Because Jason told you ours was available.”
“Yes.”
“He didn't have the right to promise that alone.”
Margaret looked away.
“I know that now.”
“You knew the house was partly mine.”
“Yes.”
“So what changed?”
Her mouth tightened.
“I thought marriage had made Jason stop seeing what I needed.”
There it was again.
Not money.
Not housing.
Position.
“I resented you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you made him different.”
“He is different.”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“I know.”
She sounded like that was still an injury.
Then I asked:
“Did you mean for me to fall?”
“No.”
“Did you mean to use your hands to stop me?”
“Yes.”
That answer mattered.
“What about July?”
Margaret looked at her attorney.
He said nothing.
She answered.
“Yes.”
“Thanksgiving?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Not admission to every medical injury.
Admission to the physical contacts.
I breathed.
“Why?”
Margaret looked down.
“Because I was angry.”
No better reason came.
Then she said:
“I never thought of myself as someone who hurt people.”
I believed her.
That did not help.
She looked at me.
“Jason says I hurt him when he was a teenager.”
My chest tightened.
“He told you?”
“Yes.”
“You don't remember?”
Margaret's face changed.
“I remember the argument.”
Not the injury.
Or not the way he did.
“I remember grabbing him.”
“He broke his collarbone.”
“I know.”
“Peter told the hospital he slipped.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask him to?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Did you correct him?”
“No.”
Another family decision made in silence.
Margaret started crying.
“I thought Peter was protecting me.”
“He was.”
“Yes.”
She wiped her face.
“And I let him.”
That was the first time I heard her include herself.
Then she looked at me.
“I think Jason learned something from us.”
I did not say yes.
She continued.
“I don't know how to fix that.”
Neither did I.
The conversation ended after forty minutes.
I left without forgiving her.
Without hating her more.
Her legal case would resolve separately.
My participation in the mediation did not erase it.
Outside, Jason waited across the street.
He had not come into the building.
When he saw me, he lifted one hand.
Question.
Do you want me?
I thought.
Then nodded.
He crossed.
“How was it?”
“Complicated.”
“Did she apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Did it help?”
“A little.”
His face softened.
I continued.
“It didn't make me want her back in my life.”
He nodded.
No argument.
Then he asked:
“What about me?”
I looked at him.
“That wasn't the meeting.”
He smiled sadly.
May you like
“No.”
It wasn't.
