Over time, distance grew between us. Holidays became separate. Calls became rare.
Now she stood on my porch holding a small gift bag, her gray hair pulled back tightly, her eyes scanning the decorations inside my house.
“I didn’t think I’d be welcome,” she said.
I swallowed my surprise. “It’s Evelyn’s birthday.”
“I know.”
My husband appeared behind me. I felt his body go stiff before I even turned to look at him.
“Mom,” he said.
There was something in his voice. Something tight.
“I just came to drop this off,” she said, holding out the bag. “And maybe to finally tell the truth.”
The word truth landed between us like a stone.
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