One afternoon in early April, I was planting flowers in my garden when the gate opened.
Robert stood there alone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Robert.”
“Can we talk?”
I studied his expression.
I had become familiar with defensiveness, entitlement, and manipulation.
What I saw that afternoon appeared different.
He looked uncertain.
Perhaps even humble.
“You can come inside.”
We sat in the living room.
After a long silence, Robert spoke.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
I waited.
“You were right about how Lucy and I treated you. We used you as the solution to every inconvenience.”
His voice shook slightly.
“We never asked whether you were tired or had plans. We assumed you would always be available because you always had been.”
It was the apology I had once desperately wanted.
Strangely, I no longer needed it in order to feel worthy.
“Thank you for acknowledging it,” I said.
