I left with something more modest and more honest: a mother who had admitted a piece of what she’d done and a son who was no longer willing to erase it for her.

On the drive home, I called Mariana and told her about the conversation.

I did not ask her to meet Evelyn.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“And thank you for not making it my responsibility.”

I carried that sentence with me for days.

PART 23

On our tenth anniversary, Mariana surprised me by asking whether we could host dinner.