Margaret looked at me.
I’m glad.
It wasn’t sarcasm.
And that’s exactly what hurt me the most.
-
Margaret?
-
Yes?
“The night I left, when you asked if I knew what I was giving up…
- Yes.
Were you referring to the company?
The back of the head.
- No.
I was surprised.
Then what?
Margaret was looking at our children.
To the grandchildren.
To the table at which our family laughed.
Then to me.
- To that.
Don’t say anything.
You shouldn’t have.
I thought I was giving up a fifty-year-old woman for a twenty-eight.
In reality, I had given up the man who had been by my side when I had nothing.
To the woman who had invested in my dream before I had enough reason to believe in it.
To the mother of my children.
To the only person who had seen all my failures and stayed by my side without making me feel smaller.
