They do not restore stolen decades.
They do not turn harmful decisions into noble ones.
They simply give the living a chance to stop repeating them.
Catherine reached for another piece of garlic bread.
Emily slapped her hand away.
“You've had four.”
“I am eighty-three.”
“That isn't a bread entitlement.”
Rebecca said:
“She was always like this.”
Catherine stared at her.
“You disappeared for thirty-two years and came back just to insult me.”
Everyone laughed.
Even me.
Especially me.
For thirty-four years, I believed the measure of my marriage was how completely I knew my husband.
I was wrong about that too.
No one knows another person completely.
The measure was what we did with the truth once it reached us.
Zane had hidden it.
I chose differently.
When Emily asked, I answered.
When Rebecca asked, I answered.
When I was afraid, I said I was afraid instead of turning fear into a decision for someone else.
