Instead, I asked a question I had avoided for years.
“Are you proud of the way you’ve treated me?”
He stared at his coffee.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he whispered, “No.”
My throat tightened.
It was the first honest thing he had said to me since Thomas’s funeral.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
I looked at him carefully.
“Are you?”
He nodded.
“I should have said something that night.
I know that.”
For a moment, hope opened inside me.
Perhaps grief had frightened him.
Perhaps Vanessa’s constant pressure had changed him more than either of us understood.
Perhaps there was still a way back.
Then he reached into his jacket.
And placed a document on the table.
“I also came because there’s something we need to discuss.”
My hope collapsed.
The document was titled:
PROPOSED ACCESS AND DEVELOPMENT AGREEMENT
My hands remained in my lap.
“What is this?”
