I left the hospital carrying my daughter’s ashes when my husband finally called from wherever he was with his mistress and coldly said, “The bill has been taken care of. Stop bothering me.” I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t allow him to hear my voice break.
“I should have checked the payment receipts personally,” he continued.
“Yes.”
“I should have listened to you,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
Then Brendan asked the painful question I knew would eventually come.
“Can you ever forgive me, Nora?”
