They sat across from each other for a long time before either of them spoke. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the tension. I saw Mark’s stiff posture. I saw her folded hands.
Then I saw something shift.
Two days later, Mark agreed to meet his Mom.
Mark’s shoulders dropped, not completely, but enough.
When he returned to the car, his eyes were red.
“I don’t know what happens next,” he said.
“You talked,” I replied. “That’s something.”
Mark nodded slowly. “She said she would’ve chosen me every time. That she never stopped fighting, even after the court papers were signed.”
“And?”
He swallowed. “I think I needed to hear that.”
When he returned to the car, his eyes were red.
***
The following Sunday, Margaret came over without her disguise, just as herself.
She stood awkwardly in the doorway. “I won’t push. I only want whatever you’re comfortable giving.”
Mark hesitated, then stepped aside. “You can come in.”
Margaret smiled, fragile but real. As she held the boys, she whispered, “Hello, my little darlings.”
Mark watched her carefully. After a moment, he said quietly, “They’re lucky to have you, Mom.”
Margaret looked at him as if he’d handed her the world.
“They’re lucky to have you, Mom.”
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