Sandra sat across from me. Her hands were folded on the table. “I figured if I stopped showing up it would only make things harder for David. And for you.”

“I was wrong about you,” I said. The words felt heavy coming out. “All these years I was wrong.”

She did not smile or tell me it was okay. She just reached over and pushed the journal a little closer to me. “It is still in there if you want to read the rest.”

I looked at the journal and then at her. The soup was starting to boil over a little on one side. She got up to turn the burner down. I stayed sitting there, trying to figure out what came next.

We did not talk much more that afternoon. She ladled out two bowls and we ate at the table with the journal between us. Every now and then she would ask if I needed more bread or if the soup was too hot. I answered her. It was a start, I guess. But I still did not know if she could ever really forgive me for all the years I spent pushing her away.