Emily kept looking at me like she still couldn’t quite believe I was sitting there.
Honestly, neither could I.
Before bed, when the dishes were done and the girls were asleep, Emily and I sat on the porch swing wrapped in one blanket.
The neighborhood was quiet.
A dog barked somewhere far off.
The porch light cast that soft yellow glow that makes modest things feel rich.
Emily tucked her feet under her and looked at me.
“Can I tell you something awful?”
“Sure.”
“When you came home yesterday, part of me wanted to hate that woman.”
I turned to her.
“She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know. That’s why it was awful. It wasn’t logical. It was fear.”
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
“But now I keep thinking how strange life is. One person can break something in you. Another can hand you something back.”
