Not because she rescued me.
She never treated me as a rescue.
She gave me chores.
Coffee.
A bed when needed.
Silence when needed.
And the revolutionary assumption that I could make my own decisions.
After her fall, I added her as a paid consultant to Green Bark.
She complained.
“I don't need a salary.”
“I don't need unsolicited opinions.”
She signed.
Four years after Avery found me, a truck stopped outside Green Bark's front gate.
I recognized it.
My mother's.
She had completed probation.
Dad had been released from custody months earlier.
They sat inside for several minutes.
Neither got out.
I watched from the office.
My heart pounded.
Casey asked:
“Want me to call somebody?”
“No.”
“Want Ruth?”
“Always.”
Ruth was already walking over.
Of course.
Mom finally stepped out.
Dad followed.
They looked older.
Not tragically.
Time had simply continued.
Dad held no flowers.
Good.
Mom carried no casserole.
