Afraid.
“Can we talk?”
We met at the house that evening.
Clare stayed home.
I sat across from my father in the living room.
The chair was between us.
For the first time, I noticed how ridiculous it looked.
A giant burgundy monument to a family hierarchy that apparently mattered more than a pregnant woman’s comfort.
Ron rubbed his hands together.
“I made mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“I know I made financial mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you would always be there.”
That sentence landed differently.
I leaned back.
“That was the problem.”
He looked at me.
“You made my help permanent in your mind.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I never meant for it to become this.”
“I know.”
And I did.
That was the difficult part.
My parents weren’t monsters.
They were selfish.
Entitled.
And deeply accustomed to being rescued.
Those things could destroy a family just as effectively.
Ron looked toward the chair.
