“I came to tell you that I finally saw what I had allowed. And I am sorry.”
My throat tightened.
Part of me wanted to cross the room and hold him.
Another part wanted to make him feel every year of distance.
I wished I could return ten years and warn myself not to disappear quietly simply because my son was in love.
Instead, I said, “Daniel, love is not proven by how much disrespect you can tolerate.”
He nodded as tears slid down his cheeks.
“And marriage is not a license to erase everyone who came before.”
“I know.”
“No,” I said gently. “You are beginning to know.”
He covered his mouth and cried.
I allowed him to.
When he had finished, I went into the kitchen and prepared two cups of coffee anyway.
I added cream to his the way he liked it and placed it before him.
