It was as though that little stone knew where it belonged better than I knew where I belonged.
Claire called at seven that evening.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I heard her breathing.
It wasn’t the hurried, distracted breathing I had grown accustomed to when she was rushing between work, family, and a hundred other responsibilities.
This time, she sounded tired.
Fragile.
Human.
“Mom…”
Her voice trembled.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I’m ashamed.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Not because I wanted to punish her, but because I wanted to give her room to speak.
All the room she needed.
She continued.
“Since we came home, I’ve kept replaying everything in my mind. You carrying the beach bag. You standing in the kitchen. You putting Noah to bed while Julien and I went for a walk. You saying, ‘It’s going to be okay,’ over and over again, even though you looked exhausted.”
