“Dancing.”
“What?”
I played an old song.
“Come on.”
She stared at me.
Then realization hit.
“Sophie told you.”
I didn’t deny it.
“I don’t need your charity.”
“This isn’t charity.”
“Then what is it?”
I looked at her.
“Sophie thinks you’ve forgotten how to be a person who isn’t just her mother.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“You can’t just walk back into my life and make me feel things I buried twelve years ago.”
“I know.”
For a long moment, she stood there.
Then she sighed.
“One song.”
We danced badly in the kitchen.
And for the first time, I saw the woman I remembered.
She laughed.
Not politely.
Not sadly.
Really laughed.
A few days later, Sophie wanted a picture of her mother.
I noticed something strange while looking through their house.
There were hundreds of photographs of Sophie.
But almost none of Rebecca.
