I folded the pages.
“You think I gave you my life?”
“No.”
“Because I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“I had a life. It wasn’t the one I expected, but it was mine.”
“I know.”
“I worked. I traveled. I had friends. I cared for my sister when she was ill. I was happy sometimes.”
“I’m glad.”
“And I was lonely sometimes.”
His eyes lowered.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get to apologize for every lonely evening.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I would have to apologize for all the evenings you spent believing I had rejected you.”
He gave a small, broken smile.
“That seems fair.”
I leaned back in the chair.
“I don’t know what forgiveness looks like yet.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
“I’m not sure there is anything left to decide.”
“There is always something left to decide.”
Lucas watched us silently.
