Chapter 25 - WHAT FORGIVENESS WASN’T
People asked whether I forgave Riston’s mother.
I stopped answering publicly.
The word had become lazy.
Did I wish her suffering?
No.
Did I want revenge?
No.
Did I trust her without limits?
No.
Did I believe she changed?
Some.
Did I forget?
No.
Did I want her erased from our daughter’s life forever?
Eventually, no.
Was that forgiveness?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
What mattered:
behavior.
She met our daughter under supervision for two years.
Then public outings with Riston present.
Then one lunch without therapist.
No problems.
At ten, our daughter asked to call her Grandma.
Her choice.
Riston’s mother cried.
Did not say:
Finally.
Did not say:
I earned it.
She said:
“Thank you.”
Good.
I never left our daughter overnight with her.
Not because I thought she would starve her or hurt her.
Because trust does not have to become maximal to be real.
She accepted.
That mattered too.
Then she apologized to my father’s memory.
Odd.
At lunch one day:
“I used his work as an insult.”
“Yes.”
“I never met him.”
“No.”
“I decided repair work was beneath me.”
“Yes.”
She looked ashamed.
“He kept commercial kitchens running?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds useful.”
I laughed.
“It was.”
A ridiculous late realization.
Still.
Better than none.
Then she said:
“I spent my life around people who priced everything.”
I answered:
“That does not force contempt.”
“No.”
There.
May you like
No excuse.
That was probably the closest we came to peace.
