Mom had a point. That didn’t make it hurt less.
“Why wait?”
“After Dad died, you were wonderful. I don’t know how I would’ve managed those first months without you.”
“Then what’s changed?”
“I have.”
“You still need me.”
Mom looked at me with such tenderness that I wished she’d gotten angry instead.
“Then what’s changed?”
“Not in all the same ways. You got very good at taking care of me. I think neither of us noticed when I stopped needing quite so much care.”
“Maybe if you’d told me any of this instead of sneaking around burying letters, I would’ve had a chance.”
Mom lowered her eyes.
“You’re right.”
“Not in all the same ways.”
“I am?”
“I should’ve told you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid you’d talk me out of it.”
“Maybe I would’ve tried.”
“I know.”
“I should’ve told you.”
My anger cracked.
“I lost Dad too.”
