“I know. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.”
He placed the envelope on the entry table.
“It’s yours.”
No one spoke.
He looked at Owen.
Then at my parents.
Then back at me.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
I answered honestly.
“Good.”
He nodded, tears in his eyes.
Then he left.
This time, there was no grand speech.
No bouquet.
No applause.
Just a man finally returning something that was never his.
When the door closed, I looked at Owen.
“Did I do okay?”
His face softened.
“You did better than okay.”
“I wanted to scream.”
“You didn’t.”
“I wanted to.”
“You’re allowed.”
So I did.
Not at Caleb.
Not at anyone.
I screamed into a pillow until my throat hurt.
My mother cried.
My father stood in the kitchen with both hands on the counter.
Owen sat on the floor beside the couch and stayed there until I fell asleep.
Months passed.
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