Chapter 18
Married life suited me.
Tom was the perfect husband.
Kind.
Thoughtful.
Always willing to help with Sophie.
With the house.
With the business.
We worked well together.
Better than I ever could have imagined.
That fall, Sophie started seventh grade.
She was officially a teenager.
Well, almost.
Thirteen in December.
She was still playing volleyball.
Still making her allergy bracelets.
Still getting straight A’s.
She was talking about high school already.
About college.
About becoming a doctor like Tom.
I was so proud.
But there was one thing that had been weighing on me.
My mother.
We hadn’t spoken in seven years.
Not since she’d testified against me at the trial.
I’d tried to forget her.
To move on.
But she was still my mother.
And I was still her daughter.
Linda had kept in touch with her occasionally.
She told me my mother was sick.
Emphysema.
From forty years of smoking.
She didn’t have long.
Maybe a year.
Maybe less.
“Sarah,” Linda said gently one day. “She’s asking for you. She says she’s sorry. For everything. She wants to see you. To apologize in person.”
I didn’t know what to do.
Part of me wanted to say no.
She’d hurt me so badly.
She’d chosen Evelyn over her own daughter.
Over her own granddaughter.
But another part of me remembered when I was little.
Before the bitterness set in.
She’d read to me every night.
She’d made my Halloween costumes by hand.
She’d held me when I was scared.
I talked to Tom about it.
“Whatever you decide,” he said, “I support you. If you want to see her, I’ll drive you there. If you don’t, that’s okay too. You don’t owe anyone anything. Especially not someone who hurt you like she did.”
I talked to Sophie.
“Grandma Jenkins is sick,” I told her. “She wants to see us. What do you think?”
Sophie thought about it.
“I don’t remember her much,” she said. “But I remember she was mean to you at the trial. But… she’s still your mom. Right? And everyone deserves a second chance. Sometimes.”
She was wiser than her years.
So I called her.
She answered on the first ring.
“Sarah?” Her voice was weak.
Raspy.
Nothing like the strong, sharp woman I remembered.
“Hi, Mom.”
She started crying.
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was wrong. About everything. I let Evelyn manipulate me. I let my own pride get in the way. I almost lost you forever. And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
She coughed.
Hard.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said. “I just needed to say I’m sorry. To tell you I love you. That I’ve always loved you. Even when I was being stupid and hateful.”
I cried too.
“I’m coming to see you,” I said. “Tomorrow. Sophie and I both.”
“Really?” she whispered.
“Really.”
The next day, we drove to the small town where she lived.
Two hours outside Dallas.
Her house was smaller than I remembered.
Neater.
Quieter.
She was sitting in a chair by the window when we walked in.
Oxygen tubes in her nose.
Thin.
Frail.
Nothing like the woman who’d testified against me.
She stood up when she saw me.
She hugged me.
She was so light, like a bird.
“I’m sorry,” she kept saying into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” I said. “I forgive you.”
And I did.
Not because she deserved it.
But because I deserved to be free of the anger.
She knelt down to Sophie.
“Hi, baby,” she said. “You’re so big. So beautiful. I’ve missed so much.”
Sophie hugged her.
“It’s okay, Grandma,” she said. “We’re here now.”
We spent the whole day with her.
Looking at old photo albums.
Talking about when I was little.
She apologized to Sophie too.
For what she’d said.
For taking Evelyn’s side.
“I was wrong,” she said. “Your mommy was protecting you. And she was right to do it. I should have been there to help her. Instead, I hurt her. I hurt both of you. And I’ll never be able to make that up.”
“You can start now,” Sophie said. “By coming to my volleyball games. And my birthday parties. And being my grandma.”
My mother cried harder.
“I’d like that more than anything,” she said.
We visited her every weekend after that.
Sometimes Tom came too.
Sometimes Jessica.
She came to Sophie’s volleyball games.
She came to Thanksgiving at our house.
She was weak.
Tired.
But she was there.
And she loved us.
In her own broken way.
She died the following March.
Peacefully, in her sleep.
I was with her at the end.
Holding her hand.
She told me she loved me one last time.
Then she was gone.
The funeral was small.
Just family.
I spoke at it.
I talked about her good parts.
The mother who’d loved me the best she could.
Who’d made mistakes.
Who’d hurt me.
But who’d found her way back in the end.
“None of us are perfect,” I said. “We all hurt the people we love sometimes. But the important thing is that we try to make it right. Before it’s too late. My mother made it right. And I’ll always be grateful for that last year we had together.”
Afterward, Sophie held my hand.
May you like
“I’m glad you went to see her,” she said.
“Me too, baby,” I said. “Me too.”
