I could understand his fear.
Grief can distort people.
It can make them cling so tightly that they damage the very person they are afraid to lose.
But understanding someone’s motives is not the same as forgiving the consequences.
Nothing could restore those twenty-three years.
Nothing could return the seven-year-old holding the stuffed rabbit.
Nothing could give Amelia back her grandmother.
Her cousins.
Her aunt.
All the birthdays and Christmases and ordinary Sunday afternoons stolen by one man’s fear.
But I finally understood something I had spent decades questioning.
Claire’s husband hadn’t removed us from Amelia’s life because we meant nothing to her.
He removed us because we meant too much.
The three of us walked home together.
At our front steps, Amelia hesitated.
I didn’t pressure her.
“You have always had a place here,” I told her.
“Long before tonight.”
“Long before you knew it.”
