Chapter 14 - The Apology That Wasn’t
My mother asked to meet after the notebook was found.
Laura advised a public place. I chose a small café near the courthouse because the tables were far enough apart to make shouting embarrassing.
My mother arrived in a beige coat, hair neatly pinned, purse clutched in both hands. She looked older than she had at the hospital. Not because of time. Because consequences age people faster when they are unused to carrying them.
“I didn’t know Mom wrote those things,” she said.
I stirred my coffee.
“She saw more than you thought.”
My mother looked toward the window.
“She was hard on Tessa.”
“No,” I said. “She was honest about Tessa.”
Her fingers tightened around the purse strap.
“Claire, I am trying.”
“I know.”
“You say that like it isn’t enough.”
“It isn’t.”
Her face folded, but I did not move to comfort her. That restraint cost me. I had spent my life tending everyone else’s discomfort before my own injury had even stopped bleeding.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I waited.
“I’m sorry you felt abandoned.”
There it was.
The apology that kept one hand on the exit.
I set my spoon down.
“I did not feel abandoned. I was abandoned. There is a difference.”
She flinched.
“I was scared of losing the house.”
“You were scared of Tessa making your life harder.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t know how to stand up to her.”
That was the closest she had come to truth.
May you like
So I gave her the closest thing I had to grace.
“Then start by not standing in front of her when she hurts me.”
