“Mom.”
Her voice was small.
“We weren’t yelling.”
I knelt beside her.
“I know.”
“We promise.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
And suddenly that was what bothered me most.
I knew.
And I had still apologized.
I PROMISED MYSELF I WOULD STOP SHRINKING
That night, after putting the kids to bed, I sat alone at the kitchen table.
The house was quiet.
I thought about Steve.
He had never been confrontational.
But he also never let people walk over him.
If someone crossed a boundary, Steve didn’t scream.
He simply made the boundary clear.
Somewhere after losing him, I had confused being peaceful with being powerless.
The following afternoon, the kids asked to swim.
I sat outside the entire time.
I watched.
They laughed.
Splashed.
Played.
Not one of them screamed.
Across the fence, Marlene’s curtains moved.
My son noticed.
“She’s watching again.”
“Ignore her.”
Marlene never came over that day.
