Iris and Anthony went outside. I watched them sit on the porch steps with space between them.
He spoke first. Iris listened with her arms crossed. Then she said something, and he lowered his head.
Gina came to stand beside me.
“She needed the truth,” she said.
“I know.”
“No,” Gina said softly. “You knew facts. Tonight, you learned what they cost her.”
“She needed the truth.”
I looked at Ryan, who was still standing near the broken glass.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I told him. “You should never have had to carry this.”
He nodded. “I just wanted her to get home with some dignity left.”
***
The next morning, I found Iris at the kitchen table in my old sweatshirt, her prom curls half-fallen, staring at her tea.
“Can I sit?” I asked.
She didn’t look up. “It’s your kitchen.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“No,” I said. “Not like that. Can I sit with you?”
After a second, she nodded.
I sat across from her and folded my hands so I would not reach for her before she was ready.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You said that last night.”
“I know. I’ll say it a thousand times, because one apology cannot carry twelve years.”
“Can I sit with you?”
Her eyes filled, but she kept them on the mug.
“I didn’t lie because I didn’t want you to know him,” I said. “I lied because I loved you badly, like I was the only person who could keep you safe.”
She swallowed. “You made me feel like half of me was rejected.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Every Father’s Day project, every school form, every ‘Ask your dad,’ I thought he chose not to be there.”
“I know.”
My voice shook. “I should have let you know him. I should have let you decide what hurt and what healed. I kept choosing you, but I was taking something from you.”
Iris wiped her cheek. “I don’t know how to forgive that.”
“You don’t have to today.”
“What if I want to see him again?”
“Then I won’t stand in your way.”
“You don’t have to today.”
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