“I thought I was helping.”
“I don’t want the last version of me you remember to be the woman you had to carry.”
My voice cracked.
“I never thought I was carrying you.”
“I know.”
“Then why write it?”
“I never thought I was carrying you.”
I folded the letter.
“What did you write to Dad?”
Mom went still.
“That part isn’t yours.”
I folded the letter.
The old me would’ve pushed.
Instead, I nodded.
“Okay.”
Her shoulders eased.
I reached into my purse and placed my brass key on the table.
Mom stared at it.
“Okay.”
“Monica, you don’t have to give that back.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I want you to decide if I get another one.”
Her eyes filled.
“Are you sure?”
“Then why are you?”
“No.”
That made her laugh through her tears.
“But I’m learning.”
***
Moving day came faster than I expected.
