“And then you start building something new. Something honest.”
He picked up the teacup and took a slow sip. “I lost everything.”
“You lost someone who was taking from you. That’s not the same thing.”
“It feels the same.”
“I know.”
Timothy set down the cup and rubbed his face. “I was so angry at you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to hate you.”
“I know that too.”
“But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked. “Because deep down, I knew you were right.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back. “You don’t have to forgive me yet.”
“I already do.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Margaret stood and walked around the table. Timothy stood to meet her, and she pulled him into a tight embrace.
He held onto her like he was afraid to let go.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
They stood like that for a long time.
Two months later, Lisa pleaded guilty to embezzlement and fraud. She was sentenced to eighteen months in a minimum-security facility and ordered to repay every dollar she had taken.
Timothy filed for divorce the following week.
Margaret didn’t go to the sentencing. She didn’t need to. The chapter was closed.
Timothy moved out of the house he had shared with Lisa and into a small apartment closer to his mother. He came by every Sunday for dinner. They didn’t talk much at first. But slowly, the silences became less heavy.
One evening in late autumn, Timothy showed up at Margaret’s door with a bottle of wine and a small box wrapped in brown paper.
“What’s this?” Margaret asked.
“Open it.”
She unwrapped the box carefully. Inside was a framed photograph.
It was the two of them, taken years ago at Timothy’s college graduation. Margaret was beaming. Timothy had his arm around her shoulders.
“I found it in a box at the old house,” Timothy said quietly. “I forgot we looked that happy.”
Margaret traced the edge of the frame with her finger. “We were.”
“I want to be that happy again.”
