“You had no way to know what she was doing.”
“No.”
“But I had a choice about whether to assume the problem was you.”
That was fair.
He continued:
“I made you prove every expense because questioning you was easier than asking why Mom was always involved in our home.”
I looked toward Cedarbrook Lane.
Quiet afternoon.
Children shouting upstairs.
Margaret’s gate firmly closed.
“I appreciate you saying that.”
“I should’ve said it years ago.”
“Yes.”
He smiled sadly.
“You’re still not going to make this easy.”
“No.”
“Fair.”
Then our son came running outside without shoes.
The conversation ended.
Life moved forward.
That is what it usually does.
Margaret remained next door.
We did not become friends.
We became neighbors in the actual meaning of the word.
Separate properties.
Separate utilities.
Separate responsibilities.
She occasionally complained that I had changed.
She was correct.
Before, I believed peace meant avoiding conflict.
Now I understand peace sometimes requires one.
Not endless fighting.
Not revenge.
A boundary.
