At the table, Mom cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t have called you selfish.” I studied her carefully. She twisted her napkin between her hands.
“You helped us more than we deserved. I got used to it. That was wrong.” It was not perfect. It did not erase the past year. But it was the most honest thing she had said in a long time.
“Thank you,” I said.
Connor walked in halfway through lunch wearing a work hoodie and looking irritated at the world. He muttered hello, took a plate, and sat down.
No insult. No joke. Apparently, progress could look ugly and still be real. I never started paying again.
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