“I was—”
“You weren’t young,” she said. “You weren’t confused. You knew exactly what you were doing and you did it anyway, and then you let your mother tell your two-year-old daughter, through me, that she was no longer your concern.”
He was quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“I know you are,” she said. “But regret isn’t restitution. And guilt isn’t parenting.”
He nodded slowly.
“She’s remarkable,” he said. “Isla.”
“I know,” Elena said. “I raised her.”
She went back to her book. After a moment, he got up and left.
That was enough of a conversation.
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