We had enough to understand the shape of the original mistake, and not enough to name whoever had stretched that mistake across six years.

My mother sat opposite us, looking worn through.

“I am so sorry,” she said quietly.

She wasn’t talking to me.

She was looking at Kelsey.

“I’ve wanted to say that for six years.”

Kelsey’s face stayed careful.

“I don’t know what to do with that yet.”