"You did?"
"You're my kid," she said. "I know you."
"But I said—"
"I know what you said," she said. "And I know you were confused and angry and I know the things grown-ups said around you that you didn't have a way to understand yet. None of that was your job to manage. That was my job and Dad's job and the grown-ups' job, and we didn't do it well enough to keep it from you so you assumed that was the truth but you were repeating what you heard and that is not your fault and shouldn't be your guilt to manage."
She paused. "I'm sorry. For leaving the way I left. For not finding a way to explain it to you before disappearing from your life without a word or saying goodbye to you."
"Where did you go?" I asked. "Where are you?"
"Seattle," she said. "It's where I grew up. I have—" She pau
