something inside me loosen.
“What do you want now?”
“To meet you, if you want that.”
I looked at the room—the narrow bed, the empty walls, the box my mother had hidden for nearly three decades.
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s all right.”
“I’m angry.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
The simplicity of his answer brought tears to my eyes.
“Where are you?”
“About forty minutes away.”
“Can you come here?”
“Yes.”
“Not inside,” I added quickly. “I need time.”
“I’ll wait
