I cried when you said that.
A month later, we met for coffee.
It was awkward.
Healing often is.
People think reconciliation feels like running into each other’s arms while music swells. Sometimes it feels like sitting across from someone you love, stirring the same cup of coffee for twenty minutes because you don’t know how to begin.
Paige apologized again.
This time, without an audience.
She apologized for Mom’s illness.
For my graduation.
For my birthdays.
For Ethan.
For the dress.
I apologized too.
Not for having boundaries.
Not for being hurt.
But for the ways I had quietly decided she was beyond saving while still calling myself kind.
That was hard to admit.
Kind people can become cruel in private when they feel justified.
I had.
We both had.
A year later, Paige wore blue to my baby shower.
Not because I asked.
Because she remembered.
