“Can I send him a picture of a horse?”
“Yes.”
“Not my best horse.”
“That’s fair.”
Noah stood abruptly and walked to his room.
I waited five minutes before following.
He sat on the floor beside his bed, Daniel’s letter crumpled in one hand.
“I hate that he sounds sorry,” he said.
I sat beside him.
“That can be confusing.”
“It was easier when he was just bad.”
“I know.”
“Is he bad?”
I looked at my son.
No mother wants to place the burden of adult complexity in a child’s hands too soon. But lies had already stolen enough from him.
“He did bad things,” I said. “Very harmful things. He also may be trying to change. Both can be true.”
Noah wiped his face angrily.
“If he changes, do I have to love him?”
“No.”
“If he’s sorry, do I have to forgive him?”
