“I’m sorry about your birthday cake. I’m sorry about the dinner plate. I’m sorry there was
no chair for you at our anniversary.”
She swallowed.
“I’m sorry about the roof, the bills, the taxes, your father’s medication, and everything else you quietly paid for while I acted as though it was simply your responsibility.”
Her hands trembled.
“I’m sorry I made you believe you had to pay for the right to be loved.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Those were the words I’d needed for so long.
And yet hearing them didn’t magically erase the past.
I still remembered every hurt.
Every time I’d been overlooked.
Every celebration where I’d done the work but received none of the appreciation.
