Chapter 14
Meredith finally saw Iris after eleven months.
Iris asked.
Not Meredith.
Important.
The meeting happened in the garden.
Julia stayed.
So did I.
Meredith stopped several feet away.
Iris looked at her.
No running hug.
No fear either.
“Hi.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Iris frowned.
Meredith corrected herself.
“Hi, Iris.”
Good.
Then she apologized.
Simple.
“I was mean at breakfast.”
Iris nodded.
“You took bread.”
“Yes.”
“You made Daddy tea.”
“Yes.”
“Bad tea.”
“Yes.”
Then Meredith said:
“You never have to help me make Daddy like me.”
Iris stared.
Children sometimes need context adults wish they could erase.
Then:
“Daddy liked you.”
Meredith broke.
“Yes.”
Four-year-old truth preserved into five.
The problem had never been lack of love.
It was mistrust of love that existed without control.
Iris asked:
“You still marry Daddy?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Meredith looked at me.
I let her answer.
“Because I hurt trust.”
Good.
Iris thought.
“Can trust grow?”
That surprised all of us.
Julia looked away.
Meredith cried.
“Sometimes.”
Iris nodded.
Then asked if Meredith wanted a cookie.
Children move on faster than adult narratives.
Meredith accepted one.
No hug.
No promise.
Twenty minutes.
Then goodbye.
Afterward Iris asked:
“Can she come again?”
“Maybe.”
May you like
She accepted it.
Maybe had become enough.
