The distant sounds of music and conversation drifted through the open doors.
He stood beside me without speaking.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry.”
I watched the fountain.
“I know.”
“I should have listened.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I don’t know how to make this right.”
I turned toward him.
“Neither do I.”
His eyes filled.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?”
I looked at the son I’d carried, raised, worried over, and loved longer than he could possibly understand.
“I hope so, Nathan.”
He nodded slowly.
“But forgiveness doesn’t erase what happened,” I continued. “And I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“When Caroline threatened to have me declared incompetent, I was frightened. Not because I believed her. But because I didn’t know whether my own son would protect me.”
He covered his mouth.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I didn’t know she’d done that.”
“She believed you would take her side.”
He looked away.
“And she had every reason to believe it.”
We stood in silence.
Then he said, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to feel that way again.”
I touched his hand.
“Don’t promise me the rest of your life. Start with tomorrow.”
He nodded.
