“I was fine,” I said. “I was fine because I had to be. Because nobody ever caught me.”
She flinched like I’d hit her.
We stood there for a long time. Inside, the band started playing something slow.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” my mother said finally. “Because you wouldn’t believe me. And because I don’t know if I am yet. I don’t know what I am.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I just wanted you to know it was never about you. Not really. It was always about him. And me. And you were in the middle.”
“I was a kid, Mom,” I said. “I was a kid in a freezing attic.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to make me your regret because you never worked things out with your father.”
She looked at me. Her chin was shaking.
