“I hope you find some peace,” I said.
Then I left.
The girls kept visiting her.
Sometimes I drove them. Sometimes one went alone. They didn’t tell me everything they talked about, and I stopped asking because those conversations belonged to them.
Brielle usually came home angry.
Taryn became quieter after every visit.
One evening, she came into my room and sat beside me.
“Is it terrible that I feel sorry for her?”
“No.”
“I still hate what she did.”
“You can hate what someone did and still feel sorry for them.”
She twisted her hands together.
“I don’t know if I forgive her.”
“You don’t have to know yet.”
“What if she dies before I decide?”
I looked at her.
“Then she dies before you decide.”
Taryn frowned.
“That’s allowed?”
“Of course it is.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
I realized how often people talk about forgiveness as though it’s a deadline someone else can set for you.
