“Can I help?”
I handed her a stack of envelopes.
“Sit down.”
She smiled and took the chair across from me.
For a moment, she looked so much like Corinne had at fifteen that my chest ached.
Then I looked at Edmund’s photograph on the desk.
I had spent most of my life believing love meant protecting family from every painful consequence.
Edmund had understood something I learned much later.
Sometimes love means fir giving.
And sometimes it means finally refusing to let the people you love take.
