Outside,
the night air felt cool after the heat of the kitchen. Emma sat in the back seat beside me, her suitcase between her feet, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
The mansion grew smaller behind us.
Neither of us spoke until the gates closed.
Then Emma whispered, “I dreamed of this.”
I looked at her.
“Of you coming home?” I asked.
She nodded.
“But in the dream, I always knew what to say.”
I reached across the seat. This time, when I touched her hand, she turned her palm upward.
“I don’t know what to say either,” I admitted.
That was the truth.
Success had trained me to solve problems quickly. A bad lease, a supply issue, a failing location, a dishonest contractor—I could handle those. I could make calls, move money, replace systems, negotiate exits.
But how did a man apologize for absence?
How did he ask forgiveness
