Chapter 14 - I Never Forgave Margaret the Way She Wanted
Margaret asked to meet once.
Public place.
Lawyers aware.
She looked ten years older.
“I told the truth.”
“Yes.”
“I helped your case.”
“Yes.”
“I lost my son because of it.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
She stiffened.
“You didn't lose Daniel because you told the truth. You lost the version of your relationship where both of you could keep hiding consequences for each other.”
She cried.
Then asked:
“Do you think you'll ever forgive me?”
I had spent a year considering the word.
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Can I at least apologize?”
“You already have.”
“It doesn't feel like enough.”
“It isn't.”
That hurt her.
It was also true.
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An apology is not valuable because it earns something.
Sometimes its only value is that the injured person finally hears the truth without being asked to pay for it.
