“”I thought I was helping him. I was mostly getting in the way.””
For the first time in months, I almost smiled.
He sat down.
“”Mom, I’m sorry.””
I remained standing.
He looked at me.
“”Not just for the house. For everything. For making you feel like you didn’t have a choice. For treating your age like it meant you couldn’t make your own decisions.””
I sat opposite him.
“”Why did you do it?””
He rubbed his hands together.
“”Because I was scared. The business was failing. I didn’t want Vanessa to think I was a failure. I thought if we sold the property, I could fix everything.””
“”And if I refused?””
He looked down.
“”I thought I could make it happen anyway.””
The honesty hurt more than any excuse.
I nodded slowly.
“”That’s what frightened me most.””
He wiped his eyes.
“”I know I don’t deserve forgiveness.””
I didn’t answer immediately.
Forgiveness wasn’t something I could manufacture just because he had finally apologized.
Trust had been damaged.
And trust would require time.
“”I can forgive you someday,”” I said. “”But things cannot go back to the way they were.””
He nodded.
“”You won’t be managing my finances. You won’t be making decisions about this property. And you will never again speak about my future as though I’m not sitting in the room.””
“”I understand.””
“”Do you?””
He looked directly at me.
“”Yes.””
