“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said. “I’m doing it anyway. Not because you deserve it. Because I’m tired, Greg. I’ve been carrying you around for ten years. In the back of my mind. Every time Nathan asked about a father-son dinner and I said he had a headache. Every time I heard a siren and wondered if it was you. I’m tired of carrying it.”
He was crying now. Silently. Tears running down his yellow cheeks into his white beard.
“I locked the door,” I said. “I’d lock it again. I’m not sorry I locked it.”
Ezoic
“You shouldn’t be.”
Ezoic
“But I’m sorry I never once wondered what was on the other side of it,” I said. “I’m sorry I never asked if you were okay. I’m sorry you got sober and thought you couldn’t come home. I’m sorry you had to carry that letter in your pocket for three years.”
