I looked up.
David was “He asked me to stay.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
He looked at Clara.
“That’s the thing I’ll regret until I die.”
Clara took the letter.
She read it twice.
Then she looked at her father.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”
David nodded.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“But I don’t want to hate you either.”
David broke down.
Clara slowly stepped forward.
She didn’t hug him.
Not yet.
But she put her hand on his arm.
Sometimes forgiveness doesn’t begin with an embrace.
Sometimes it begins with simply refusing to carry someone else’s hatred.
We returned home that evening.
Daniel was waiting for us.
He had one final question.
“Did you ever find out who took the photograph?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He reached into his pocket.
“I think I did.”
He handed me his phone.
