Daniel leaned forward.
“Do you remember what your father used to say when I was stubborn?”
My husband smiled faintly.
“That you could argue with a stop sign.”
Carol laughed.
“I didn’t understand something that night.”
“Michael wasn’t wrong.”
Daniel’s father had died when my husband was 11.
Carol rarely discussed him.
“Your father also said being right wasn’t worth much if you hurt someone to prove it.”
She turned toward me.
“I wish I’d listened.”
Then she said something unexpected.
“Michael wasn’t wrong.”
“Alma,” she said, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself, “I was wrong about you.”
I stared at her.
“I was wrong about your job, your marriage, and your place in my son’s life.”
For years, I’d imagined hearing those words.
Now, I couldn’t speak.
“I was wrong about you.”
“What changed?” I finally asked.
Carol rubbed her hands together.
“Last spring, I started cleaning out the upstairs closet.”
