High above the Atlantic, she opened the small bottle of sparkling water the flight attendant had handed her. She looked out at the darkening clouds and felt something she had not felt in a very long time.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Relief.
PART 3
Helen landed in Rome shortly after sunrise.
The airport was bright, busy, and unfamiliar. People moved past her in every direction, speaking Italian, English, Spanish, and languages she could not name. For one brief moment, standing near baggage claim with the warm handle of her suitcase in her palm, she felt a tiny flicker of fear.
She was sixty-two years old.
She had never traveled overseas by herself.
Her husband, Daniel, had once promised to take her to Italy when the children were grown. He had died at forty-eight from a heart attack while replacing a broken fence panel in their backyard. After that, “when the children are grown” had become a cruel little phrase. The children grew, yes, but their needs kept growing too.
Brian needed help with college.
Madison needed help with her wedding.
Kevin needed help getting back on his feet.
Then came babies, medical bills, moving expenses, new appliances, custody fights, business ideas, summer camps, and holiday presents.
Helen had told herself that mothers gave. That was simply what mothers did.
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