Mom’s apologies and presents and excuses worked in the past because Lea was a child and because I didn’t want Lea to feel abandoned the way I did. She was too young to understand about Dad and too naive to understand about Mom. But I’m not a child, and Lea doesn’t need my protection anymore. And it should’ve been my turn to be the kid, not the parent. Not the understanding one, who accepts Mom’s excuses and sees the world through rose-tinted glasses. All those years I spent looking after Lea . . . Who was looking after me? Who is looking after me?
