Mom shook her head.
“Simone, please.”
“He gave up engineering to raise me. Then he worked construction and paid for her education.”
Her husband picked up one of the checks.
“I did work.”
Mom began crying.
“I was scared. I felt trapped. I thought I would go back once I had figured things out.”
“You had 22 years,” I replied.
“Harder for you. Not for Dad.”
She pointed toward the birthday cards.
“He hid those from you. He made choices too.”
“He was wrong.”
My answer silenced her.
I had defended Dad my entire life.
“He should have told me,” I continued. “I am angry with him for that.”
Mom’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though she believed she had finally found an ally.
