Forgiveness isn't a door you walk through once.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked. "The recorder… why keep it all this time? Why now?"
Michael stopped at the sink, his back still to me.
"Because you were trying so hard to be okay. I didn't want to be the reason you broke all over again. I kept it safe all these years." He turned then, finally looking at me. "And I thought… maybe today, you should hear her again. And know the truth. You shouldn't have to live thinking I took Sarah from you. I didn't."
***
Later, past midnight, I sat alone in the living room with the recorder on the cushion beside me. The house was quiet. I pressed play.
"The recorder… why keep it all this time?"
"Dad said he'd fix my bike brakes this weekend, but I think he's gonna forget again."
That laugh.
"It's okay, though. He always makes it up with pancakes."
I heard footsteps in the hallway. Michael stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He didn't come in. He just stood there, making sure I wasn't alone. I didn't look up.
"Next time something like this comes up, we face it together."
A pause. Then: "Yeah, okay, Dad."
I pressed play one more time.
