He turned back to me, rain dripping from his hairline. “I can fix this,” he said.
I looked at the packed bags on the porch. At the broken planter. At the changed lock. At the son I had once believed would never knowingly wound me.
“No, Peter. You can’t.”
Tears rose in his eyes. Real ones. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You wanted to avoid hurting yourself more.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is when you choose my life to absorb the blow.”
Mara handed him the notice papers and explained what he was forbidden from doing with the property. He took them because his fingers needed somewhere to go.
I spoke once more before turning away.
“You told your wife I would fold,” I said. “Look at me.” He lifted his head. “This is what you forgot while you were busy underestimating me. I buried my husband. I raised you alone. I built a business with one machine and swollen hands.
