I said nothing.
He swallowed.
“I let that become resentment. Toward her. Toward you. Toward Mom’s memory. Toward everything I hadn’t earned.”
It was the first honest thing my son had said in years.
It did not fix everything.
But it was honest.
“I’m not asking to come in,” he said.
“Good.”
He accepted that quietly.
“I’m staying at a sober living house. I’m looking for work. Melissa and I are done.”
I did not ask if it was true. Time would answer better than he could.
“I hope you keep going,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Do you hate me?”
The question entered my chest and stayed there.
“No,” I said. “But I do not trust you.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Lily appeared beside me.
Her face was pale, but her chin was lifted.
“You told me Grandpa didn’t want me.”
