Cowardice.
He whispered.
“I wanted peace.”
I nodded.
“At my expense.”
“Yes.”
That honesty hurt.
But it mattered.
I said.
“Your mother used to do that too.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Not with you.”
“With other people.”
“She hated conflict.”
“She would absorb it.”
“Or let someone else absorb it.”
“I used to tell her peace bought with resentment isn’t peace.”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“I guess I learned the wrong part.”
“Maybe.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I’m really sorry.”
“When Vanessa said lazy freeloader, I should have stopped her.”
“When she gave you rules, I should have refused.”
“When you cleaned everything, I should have helped.”
“When she threw away the pie, I should have said something.”
“I kept telling myself you could handle it.”
That sentence caught me.
I smiled sadly.
“That’s familiar.”
“What?”
“People often treat strong people badly because they assume strength means unlimited tolerance.”
