She twisted her hands together.
“I don’t know if I forgive her.”
“You don’t have to know yet.”
“What if she dies before I decide?”
I looked at her.
“Then she dies before you decide.”
Taryn frowned.
“That’s allowed?”
“Of course it is.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
I realized how often people talk about forgiveness as though it’s a deadline someone else can set for you.
I didn’t want that for my daughters.
Three weeks later, they walked into the kitchen together.
The moment I saw Brielle’s swollen eyes, I knew.
Taryn spoke first.
“Mom died this morning.”
I stood.
Neither girl said anything else.
They simply came toward me.
I wrapped my arms around them as tightly as I could, bending between their chairs the same way I had done when they were little.
That was when I cried too.
Not for my marriage.
