Smaller.
Human.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” she said.
“You shouldn’t.”
She nodded.
“I saved Caleb.”
“Yes.”
“And I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I loved you.”
That was the hardest one.
“I know.”
She began crying.
“So what does that make me?”
I thought for a long time.
Then answered.
“A person who made terrible choices after being frightened, then kept choosing them long after fear stopped being the only reason.”
She lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you.”
Her eyes lifted.
“That isn’t forgiveness.”
“No.”
But it was something.
Maybe one day forgiveness would come.
Maybe not.
Caleb came home gradually.
He could not simply walk back into the life he had left.
He needed therapy.
Sleep.
Time.
He hated crowds.
Checked rearview mirrors constantly.
Sometimes he woke from nightmares convinced Mercer had found us.
Emma never rushed him.
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