For a while we simply watched the lake.
Then she said something I never expected.
“We failed you.”
I remained silent.
She continued.
“We spent years worrying about Kelsey because she always seemed fragile.”
The wind moved across the water.
“And because of that,” she said quietly, “we assumed you didn’t need us.”
That sentence landed harder than any apology.
Because it explained everything.
Not excused it.
Explained it.
Strong children often become invisible.
Responsible children become convenient.
Reliable children become taken for granted.
My mother stared at the lake.
