Then:
Everything after that was cowardice.
That was the first apology I believed.
It did not restore trust.
But it named the right crime.
Not just what she had done legally.
What she had done to us.
Two years after Noah disappeared, he asked whether he could see Grandma.
I did not answer immediately.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I miss her.”
That hurt.
Because children do not stop loving people on the schedule adults think would make things easier.
“You’re allowed to miss her.”
“Are you mad?”
“At you?”
He nodded.
“No.”
“Would you be mad if I saw her?”
“No.”
That answer cost me something.
But it was true.
His therapist helped arrange the first meeting.
Supervised.
Neutral place.
Diane looked twenty years older.
Noah walked in.
She started crying immediately.
He stopped several feet away.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She did not reach for him.
Good.
