I don’t want to be Mom, Paige. I don’t want to end up alone wondering why no one loves me. I let her words sit. This could be manipulation, another play, another con, but something in her voice felt different, broken in a way that can’t be faked. I’m not ready to let you back in, I said finally.
I know, but I heard you and I appreciate you saying it. A week later, I sent her a text, two words. Good luck. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it wasn’t a closed door either. One year later, mom never called again. I heard through dad that she’s living with an old friend now. The house was sold. Turns out there were more debts than anyone knew.
No more casino nights, nomore spa days, no more elaborate performances of motherhood. I don’t feel happy about it, but I don’t feel sad either. I feel free. Megan and I aren’t close. We may never be, but she’s still in therapy. Still working. She sent Emma a birthday card. Handmade, not bought. A small thing, but a real one. Dad comes to dinner once a month.
He and Daniel talk about football. He holds Emma with a tenderness I never saw when I was young. Maybe he’s making up for lost time. Maybe he’s just tired of being the man he was. Either way, I let him try. And Grandpa? Grandpa is here every Sunday. He’s teaching Emma to play chess, even though she still tries to eat the pieces.
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