One evening, Emma and I sat on the porch while Lily slept inside.
Emma rested her head against my shoulder.
“You know what hurts the most?” she asked.
“What?”
“I kept thinking I had to prove I wasn’t crazy.”
I looked at her.
“You never had to prove that.”
She smiled faintly.
“I know that now.”
I looked through the window at our daughter sleeping peacefully.
Then I looked at the new locks on the front door.
Those locks had cost less than a hundred dollars.
But they represented something worth far more.
For years, I had believed family meant keeping the door open.
Now I understood.
Sometimes loving your family meant knowing when to close it.
And when I finally turned the key that night, I wasn’t locking my mother out.
I was locking my wife and daughter safely in.
