“If you won’t move into assisted living, pack your bags and leave my house now,” my son said, certain I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t argue. I calmly folded my clothes, closed my suitcase, and waited. An hour later, a limousine pulled into the driveway. When he opened the door and saw who had come to take me away, his confident smile disappeared...

After dinner, Daniel stood near the window holding coffee.

“I drove past the assisted-living place last week,” he said.

I waited.

“It has a new sign.”

“I’m sure it’s a fine community.”

“That wasn’t the problem, was it?”

“No.”

“The problem was that I tried to make the decision for you because your presence had become inconvenient.”

“Yes.”

He looked toward Lily and Noah, who were decorating cookies with Harold.

“I used to tell myself I was protecting my  family.”

“You were protecting the version of your life that required everyone else to cooperate.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

This time, I did not ask him to explain exactly what he meant.

He had spent two years answering through his actions.

“I know.”

He looked at me.

“Do you think Dad would forgive me?”

“Your father loved you.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“No.”

He waited.

“I think Thomas would expect you to keep becoming a better man whether forgiveness came quickly or not.”

Daniel lowered his gaze to the coffee.

“That sounds like him.”

“It does.”

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