For a while, we listened to the water.
Then he said, “When I saw the house, my first thought was how much you could have done for us.”
I turned toward him.
His face reddened with shame.
“And then I realized what I was thinking.”
“I was still looking at your money before I was looking at you.”
“Yes.”
“I had a whole mother in front of me for years, and I reduced you to that apartment. Grocery sales. Your old purse. Waiting for our calls.”
I looked at my coffee.
“Sometimes I did wait for your calls.”
His eyes filled.
“That hurts more than the fifty million.”
“It should.”
“I need it to.”
After a moment he asked, “Is there any chance you’ll forgive me?”
“Forgiveness isn’t a prize you get because you cried for two days.”
“What do I do?”
“The right thing.”
“Even if you don’t forgive me?”
