“During his final months. He got sick before he could.”
I read his words.
“I spent twenty years afraid of losing my daughter. Now I’m afraid I’ve stolen twenty years from her.”
Dad had one final truth.
“He wanted me to finish what he started.”
“Can you forgive us?”
“I don’t know. I love you, but I need time.”
Michael touched my shoulder. “Take all you need.”
I looked at Mom. “Things can’t go back to how they were.”
I’ve stolen twenty years from her.
“I understand, sweetheart.”
For once, I left without comforting her.
***
Three weeks later, I called Michael.
“Want to come over?”
“Really?”
“We’ve lost enough time.”
I left without comforting her.
***
That Saturday, Michael brought childhood photos.
“You used to steal my shoes.”
“Sounds like me.”
We laughed.
Mom and I kept talking, too. “Will things ever be the same?”
