I did.
More than she knew.
When Robert died, Melissa had been at work.
By the time she reached the hospital, he was gone.
When Robert died, Melissa had been at work.
For years, she had carried that missed goodbye like something she’d failed to prevent.
“I understand that you were scared,” I said.
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“I am scared.”
“So am I.”
She went quiet.
I looked down at the hinge.
There was another truth I hadn’t told her.
“I am scared.”
“The railing was loose.”
“What?”
“On the back steps.”
Tom looked at me.
I continued.
“I knew it needed fixing.”
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“Mom!”
“I know.”
“How long?”
“A while.”
“The railing was loose.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I kept meaning to call someone.”
Melissa made an angry sound.
For once, I let her have it.
She had earned that anger.
“I should have fixed the railing,” I said.
