I kissed the top of her head.
“I know.”
“That almost feels worse.”
I understood what she meant.
Hatred can keep someone tied to you.
Indifference sometimes means you’ve finally stopped waiting.
That
evening, after the girls went upstairs, I remained alone in the living room.
The house was quiet.
My eyes returned to the photograph.
For years, I had wondered whether I had done enough.
Whether I had been too old to raise them properly.
Whether working so much had cost them something.
Whether they had needed a younger mother.
Whether grief had made me too serious.
Whether my mistakes had marked them.
Every parent wonders.
Every grandmother who unexpectedly becomes a parent probably wonders twice as much.
But now I looked at Jennifer and Lizzie in that picture.
Strong.
Funny.
Compassionate.
Sharp enough to recognize manipulation without becoming cruel themselves.
And I realized that raising them had never required perfection.
