“You could have helped him when he needed it,” Emma said.
“I know.”
“Dad worked nights for a year.”
“I know.”
“He sold his truck when Claire needed surgery.”
I turned to look at Emma. I had never told the girls why I sold that truck. I’d told them I just didn’t need it anymore. Somehow, they had worked it out on their own.
Vanessa’s face crumpled. “I know.”
Emma shook her head slowly.
“No. You know now. He knew then.”
That was the sentence that finally broke her. Vanessa covered her face with both hands and sobbed – deep, ragged sounds that filled the little room.
I felt no satisfaction watching it. But I didn’t rush to rescue her from it, either.
Some pain belongs to the person who caused it.
Claire stayed another twenty minutes. Emma lasted five.
As we turned to leave, Vanessa spoke one last time.
