“You don’t have to. But forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. Which is why I’m forgiving you for your little trick, whether or not you ask for it.” Despite his words, a question, a request, a demand bloomed in the space between them. She felt certain about the words that fell, but as an automaton, blank and mechanical. She was performing a memorized task, one born of survival, buried upon freedom, resurrected now: “You’re right. I’m wrong. I’m sorry.”
