“But whenever you walk with me,” she said, “you always stop and turn around and look for me and wait. You wait for me when we walk.” We had taken a stroll a few weeks earlier, her little sub-five-foot-tall body taking a bit longer to get down the sidewalk. That’s okay. We weren’t in a rush. She ran her fingers along my hairline, getting grayer and grayer by the day. “I want that for you, too. I want someone to stop and look and wait for you.” I’ve had trouble feeling a fulsome rage at my ex-husband for whatever he did to me, but I was always furious that he lied to my mother. Through me, he
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