“Do you want me to come home this weekend?”
I smiled through tears.
“That’s sweet of you. But I’m all right.”
Our daughter cried.
Then she said something that surprised me.
“Mom, I always wondered why you got so quiet whenever Dad came home.”
I stared at the phone.
“You noticed that?”
“Of course.”
She hesitated.
“I just didn’t know what it meant.”
For years, I’d believed my children hadn’t seen the distance growing between their parents.
Apparently, they had noticed more than I realized.
I told them both that I loved them.
That none of this changed their relationship with me.
And that they didn’t have to take sides to remain part of my life.
After the calls ended, I sat quietly for a long time.
The sadness was real.
But so was the relief.
Four mornings after Rachel appeared at my door, I woke early.
The house was still.
Sunlight spilled across the kitchen counter.
