An apology didn’t erase the call I’d received three days before the wedding.

It didn’t transform Dad into the parent I had needed at eight or seventeen or twenty-five.

But it was a beginning that didn’t require me to pretend nothing had happened.

Marcus came home carrying groceries and found me repotting lavender with my sleeves rolled up.

When I told him about Dad’s visit, he didn’t declare victory.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like I’m not sure what happens next.”