“I’m fine.”
“You are leaking from your face.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then cried harder.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I’m so tired.”
She waited.
I said the thing I had been ashamed to say.
“I’m not even your daughter.”
Margaret’s eyes sharpened.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“You have children who should be here too.”
“They have lives.”
“So do I.”
The words came out harsher than I intended.
“I had a job.”
“I had friends.”
“I had things I wanted to do.”
“Sometimes I feel like my whole life is pills and laundry and appointments.”
Margaret looked down at her hands.
I immediately felt guilty.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
She reached toward me.
Her fingers were cold and crooked.
I took them.
“You should have said it earlier.”
“What?”
“That this is costing you.”
I stared.
She squeezed my hand weakly.
“Love that costs nothing is easy.”
