I read it three times. I didn’t know. That’s the line that stuck. Not the sorry. Not the please. Just my own daughter telling me she never knew the ground she was standing on belonged to me the whole time.

I haven’t written back yet. It’s been two days now and the phone keeps going and I just sit here looking at it. I keep thinking I should be angry, and I am, but mostly I’m thinking about Diane’s chair, and how I left it behind in a house I’m about to hand to a stranger, and how I don’t know which of us I’m really punishing anymore.