He was still afraid Rebecca might see his confession as an insult to her dignity.

“She brought food because she loves you,” I said.

“You gave food because you love them.

Maybe you can both learn to accept help without making it a contest.”

He stared at the old cup.

“Abigail used to say that.” His voice softened.

“She would have liked Rebecca.”

I drove home determined to honor both the kindness and the truth.