That he hated olives.
That he still kept the little Father's Day cards I'd made before the accident.
He told me about the years he'd spent trying to challenge the research program.
I told him about college.
About the day Nigel proposed.
About how frightened I was when Iris was born.
We couldn't recover every lost memory.
But we could make new ones.
And for the first time, I understood that rebuilding a relationship didn't require pretending there had never been a wound.
Sometimes it meant allowing the wound to be seen.
Then deciding, one day at a time, whether trust could grow around it.
***
My mother remained distant.
The investigations into the Lumen Project and the financial arrangements were still being resolved.
She had acknowledged her role in the scheme and faced legal consequences.
I learned that remorse could exist alongside responsibility.
She wrote me letters.
Some were full of apologies.
