“Did she apologize?”
“No.”
“Then there’s nothing to clear.”
Daniel nodded.
“She said you’re holding a grudge.”
“I’m holding a boundary.”
“I told her that.”
That was new.
A month later, Margaret asked me to lunch.
I accepted.
Not because I trusted her.
I wanted to hear what she would say when Daniel wasn’t standing between us.
We met at a restaurant in Hartford.
Margaret arrived early, perfectly dressed in a camel coat and pearl earrings.
For ten minutes, she discussed the weather, traffic, and Claire.
Then she folded her hands.
“I suppose Daniel told you I was upset about the locks.”
“He did.”
“I think it was unnecessary.”
“I don’t.”
“That house has been part of my life for almost thirty years.”
“I understand.”
“I raised my children there.”
“Yes.”
“My husband died there.”
Her voice tightened.
That softened something in me, but not enough to change the issue.
“I know the house matters to you.”
“Then you understand why being locked out hurts.”
“I understand why it hurts.”
She looked relieved.
Then I continued.
“But you walked into that house whenever you wanted, criticized how I lived, and eventually told me to leave. You behaved as though your history there gave you authority over my marriage.”
Her expression hardened.
“I was angry.”
“So was I.”
“You embarrassed Daniel.”
“No. Daniel was embarrassed because he realized he had allowed something indefensible.”
Margaret stared at me.
“You’ve changed him.”
There it was again.
“No,” I said. “He changed himself.”
