My uniform had frightened them because it exposed a reality they had worked hard not to see.
“I am not asking you to forgive me today,” my mother said.
“Good.”
She nodded once.
“Your father wants me to keep the key in case you change your mind.”
“And what do you want?”
She opened her hand and placed it in mine.
“I want to stop pretending your boundaries are attacks on me.”
The key was cold against my skin.
It did not repair what she had done, and I did not invite her to stay.
But returning it without conditions was the first choice she had made that cost her something.
My father left two days later without speaking to me.
Harper moved her belongings out of the guest room and sent a brief message saying she would not contact me again unless I contacted her first.
I accepted that boundary.
