Mommy. I’ve got you. I used to think boundaries meant losing people. Turns out boundaries just show you who was never really there.
My mom hasn’t apologized. She sends a card on Liam’s birthday. No note inside, just her signature. I put it on the fridge for a day, then recycle it.
Liam doesn’t ask where it came from. Vanessa sent one text six weeks after the wedding. You know, I didn’t mean it like that. I read it.
I didn’t respond. If she ever figures out what she meant, she knows where to find me. Dad texts once a week now. Short things.
Hope you’re well. Liam’s school picture was nice. Got a good price on that furnace filter you mentioned. He’s trying.
Small, clumsy, insufficient trying, but it’s the first time in 32 years my father has reached for me instead of away. So, I’m watching. I haven’t closed that door. Derek and Vanessa are still together, still in counseling.
She doesn’t call me. Derek and I exchanged one more coffee. Same cafe, same table where he told me she cried in therapy for the first time. I don’t know if they’ll make it, but that’s their story, not mine.
And me, I go to work. I pick up my son. I sit on my porch with a glass of water, and I watch the fireflies come out over the yard. And I don’t wonder anymore if I’m enough.
Because a five-year-old boy sat in a room full of adults who were laughing at his mother. And he didn’t look away. He didn’t cry. He just asked why.
If my son can do that at five, I can do anything. That’s where the story ends.
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