“Can’t you just forgive him?” Tyler asked.
I sat down at the table with both of them.
“Here’s the thing about forgiveness,” I said. “Forgiveness doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was. It doesn’t mean I have to let your daddy back into my life the same way. Forgiveness means I’m not angry anymore—and I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I trust him like I used to.”
“Trust is like a glass vase,” I continued. “Once it’s broken, you can glue it back together, but it’s never the same. There are always cracks.”
“So you can’t trust Daddy anymore?” Emma asked.
“Not the way I used to,” I said.
Tyler nodded slowly, like he understood more than a nine-year-old should have to understand.
“That makes sense,” he said.
He hesitated.
“Mommy says you’re mean for not helping us anymore,” he added. “But I don’t think you’re mean. I think Mommy and Daddy did something bad and now there are consequences.”
Out of the mouths of children.
“That’s exactly right, Tyler,” I said softly. “Actions have consequences, even when you’re an adult. Especially when you’re an adult.”
“I won’t treat people bad when I grow up,” Emma said seriously. “Because I don’t want them to go away like you did.”
“Good plan, sweetheart,” I said. “Good plan.”
At five p.m., Kevin came to pick them up.
The kids hugged me goodbye and ran down the walkway to the car, waving as they climbed in.
Kevin stood on my porch for a moment.
“Mom, can I—” he started.
“No,” I said gently. “Whatever you want to say, the answer is no. We have an arrangement. It’s working. Let’s not complicate it.”
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said. “For seeing them. For still being part of their lives.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” I said.
“I know,” he replied. “But still. Thank you.”
I nodded and closed the door.
I watched through the window as he got into the car and drove away.
Last week, I saw Jessica for the first time since the airport.
I was in the produce section of a grocery store in the city—a big chain store with bright fluorescent lights and a display of Honeycrisp apples near the entrance—picking out avocados.
I turned, and there she was.
She looked exhausted. No makeup. Hair in a messy ponytail. Wearing a retail uniform with a name tag clipped to the front. She must have come straight from work at the department store.
She froze when she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she walked over.
“Margaret,” she said.
“Jessica,” I replied.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward.
“I… I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said finally. “For what I said at the airport. It was cruel. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
I looked at her.
Really looked at her.
She’d aged, too.
Stress and financial pressure will do that.
“You’re right,” I said. “You shouldn’t have said those things.”
“I was just…” She swallowed. “I thought it would be nice for my mom to go. I didn’t think you’d care that much.”
I raised an eyebrow.
