when it became control.
At Dad, who had learned silence was not peace.
At Mom, who had finally stopped protecting everyone from necessary conversations.
And at myself.
I had learned something too.
Providing for people was not the same as knowing them.
Love could arrive as money.
But sometimes it needed to arrive in person.
The rusty key had not opened a treasure chest.
It had opened an old compartment filled with papers.
Then an old property.
Then a forgotten relationship.
Then conversations we had spent years avoiding.
In the
