Margaret did not turn toward her. There was no need. “And you chose to believe her.”

Daniel’s eyes were red. “I was wrong.”

Margaret wanted to hug him. A part of her always would. He was her son. She had held him through fevers, waited for him at midnight, defended him from half the world.

But another part of her—the part buried for years under dirty dishes and paid bills—kept her back straight. “Yes,” she said. “You were.”

“Mom, I miss the kids. They miss you.”

Margaret’s voice cracked a little. “I miss them too. But I will not return to a house where I’m treated like old furniture until someone needs me.”