“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe someday. But probably not the way we were before.”
“Because of what Mommy said at the airport?” she asked.
Of course they knew about that.
“Because of that,” I said, “and because of how your daddy reacted. Sometimes people show you who they really are, and when they do, you have to believe them.”
Emma thought about this as she pressed chocolate chips into the dough.
“I’m glad you still love us, though,” she said.
“Always, baby,” I said. “Always.”
Tyler, who’d been quiet during this conversation, spoke up.
“Daddy cries sometimes,” he said. “At night. I hear him.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m sorry you have to hear that, Tyler,” I said.
“He says he misses you,” Tyler added. “That he wishes he could take back what happened.”
“I’m sure he does,” I said.
“Can’t you just forgive him?” Tyler asked.
I sat down at the table with both of them.
“Here’s the thing about forgiveness,” I said. “Forgiveness doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was. It doesn’t mean I have to let your daddy back into my life the same way. Forgiveness means I’m not angry anymore—and I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I trust him like I used to.”
“Trust is like a glass vase,” I continued. “Once it’s broken, you can glue it back together, but it’s never the same. There are always cracks.”
“So you can’t trust Daddy anymore?” Emma asked.
“Not the way I used to,” I said.
Tyler nodded slowly, like he understood more than a nine-year-old should have to understand.
“That makes sense,” he said.
He hesitated.
