“I owe you an actual apology,” he said. “Not the half version I gave you at the pickup that one time. A real one.”
I waited.
“I was so angry about the divorce, about the money, about everything falling apart, that it was easier to believe you were doing this to hurt me than to admit something might actually be wrong with you. It’s a terrible thing to say out loud. But it’s true, and I think you deserve to hear me say it plainly instead of letting you keep guessing.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it, even though it did not erase a single dizzy afternoon or a single humiliating minute on that courtroom floor. Some apologies don’t undo the damage. They just make it possible to stop carrying the damage alone.
“I want to be better,” he added. “For Lily. And — I don’t expect this to matter to you, but for you too. You didn’t deserve what happened in that first hearing.”
