“You don’t earn a place by wanting one,” I said. “You earn it by becoming safe enough that they never have to recover from you again.”
He absorbed that like a blow.
Then he nodded.
I turned to Margaret.
She took my hands.
Her fingers were freezing.
“I am sorry,” she said. “For what he did. For what Victor did. For what I didn’t see.”
I could have told her it was not her fault.
But mothers know better than anyone that innocence does not erase regret.
So I said, “You can know them now. Slowly.”
Her breath broke.
“Thank you.”
The children climbed into the helicopter, arguing over seats.
Noah pressed his face to the window and waved at Margaret.
She waved back with both hands.
Daniel lifted one hand too.
Noah hesitated.
Then, after a second, he gave the smallest wave.
Daniel looked as if he had been handed mercy and did not know how to hold it.
