“You lived your life.”
“You don’t carry things alone anymore, son,” I added. “Not in this family. Not again.”
Michael nodded. His eyes were full, but he didn’t look away.
That was the moment I understood: forgiveness isn’t a door you walk through once. Sometimes it’s a choice you make again, in a different room, about a different thing, for the same person.
***
Greg left an hour later. He’d said what he came to say, and he’d meant it, and the rest of it was going to play out in rooms neither of us would control. I didn’t wish him well, and I didn’t wish him harm. I just let him go.
Michael started clearing dishes without being asked, moving back and forth from the table to the kitchen in the yellow light, and I watched him for a moment before I went inside.
