Then she collapsed against me.
She was crying so hard I could barely understand the words.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I held her face.
“Stop.”
“I left.”
“You were sixteen.”
“I went with him.”
“You were a child trying to make a decision you didn’t understand.”
“I should have come home.”
“You’re safe now.”
She stared at me as if she didn’t know what to do with those words.
Michael wrapped both arms around us.
“We believe you,” he said.
Nora looked at him.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“You don’t think I was stupid?”
Michael’s voice broke.
“I think you were sixteen.”
That was when she completely fell apart.
We talked for hours.
Not enough to cover eight years.
Not even close.
But it was a beginning.
At one point, we asked Nora if she wanted to come home with us.
She shook her head.
At first, that hurt.
Then she explained.
