I start to walk out of the kitchen, but my steps feel so heavy. I have so much I want to say to Grace that I didn’t have the chance to say to her earlier today at my apartment. I turn around, and I’m sorry is on the tip of my tongue, but I feel like if I open my mouth, I’ll cry.
My eyes meet Grace’s, and she can see the agony in my expression.
“Grace . . .” My voice is a whisper.
She immediately walks over to me and pulls me in for a hug.
It’s an amazing hug. A forgiving hug. “Hey,” she says, soothingly. “Hey, listen to me.” She pulls back, and we’re about the same height, so we’re eye to eye when she takes the juice from me and sets it aside. Then she squeezes both of my hands reassuringly. “We go forward,” she says. “That’s it. It’s that simple. I forgive you and you forgive me, and we go forward together and give that little girl the best life we can give her. Okay?”
I nod, because I can do that. I forgive them. I’ve always forgiven them.
It’s myself I’ve been hard on. But I think I’ve reached the point that forgiving myself finally feels okay.
So I do.
You’re forgiven, Kenna.
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