She looked embarrassed.
“I kept waiting for you to complain.”
“I didn’t.”
“And somehow that made me feel worse.”
I almost laughed.
“So you gave me more chores?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting psychology.”
“I know.”
Then she said.
“The pie was awful.”
I stared.
She panicked.
“I mean what I did.”
“Not the pie.”
I laughed.
She covered her face.
“That came out wrong.”
“Yes.”
Then.
“I’m sorry.”
“For throwing it away.”
“For treating you like staff.”
“For making rules without respecting you.”
“For assuming poverty meant laziness.”
“And for letting my own history become your punishment.”
That was a real apology.
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
She exhaled.
“Do you forgive me?”
“Eventually.”
She looked disappointed.
Then accepted it.
“Fair.”
I looked at her.
“Vanessa.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t need you to like me.”
“I know.”
“But your children are watching how you treat people you think have less.”
