You ruined our lives, get out!» my whole family said. So, I just left. A month later, I received 50+ missed calls. Now they know…

So sensitive. So determined. So willing to take the blame even when it wasn’t yours to take.

She twisted her wedding ring, a nervous habit I remembered from childhood. Until you weren’t. People can only bend so far before they break, I replied quietly.

Or before they stand up straight. Is that what you did? Stand up straight? Eventually. Another silence, but less tense this time.

I wanted to blame you when you left, she admitted. It was easier than facing the truth about your father, about… the business, about my own part in it all. I blinked in surprise.

This acknowledgement, however small, was unprecedented. Rachel still blames you, she continued. Tyler too, somewhat.

It’s easier than accepting that our family had problems long before the business failed. And you, I asked, holding my breath. She looked down at her tea.

I’ve had a lot of time. To think. Too much time, maybe.

And I’ve realized that we did to you what my family did to me. I was the difficult one. The too sensitive one.

The one who couldn’t take a joke. She met my eyes briefly before looking away again. I promised myself I’d never do that to my children.

But somehow, we fell into the pattern. It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was more self-awareness than I’d ever witnessed from her. What happens now? I asked.

I don’t know, she admitted. That’s up to you, I suppose. I didn’t come here with expectations.

I just… needed to see that you’re okay. I am okay, I confirmed. Better than okay, actually.

I can see that. A faint smile crossed her face. You have a light about you that wasn’t there before.

In Portland, you always seemed… dimmed, somehow. We talked a little longer, carefully avoiding certain topics, gradually finding our way to a conversation that felt, if not comfortable, at least not actively painful. When our agreed-upon 30 minutes were up, I signaled for the check.

Would… you… She hesitated. Would you be open to talking again sometime? Maybe phone calls to start? I considered this. I’d be open to occasional calls, I said carefully.

But I need you to understand something. I’m building a life here that’s healthy for me. I can’t go back to the family dynamic we had before.

I… understand, she said, though I wasn’t sure she truly did. Limited contact is better than none. We parted with an awkward brief hug, neither of us quite sure how to navigate this new territory.

Over the following months, we established a cautious pattern of communication. Short phone calls every few weeks. Neutral topics at first, gradually expanding to include more personal subjects as trust slowly rebuilt.

She never pushed for more than I was willing to give, which itself represented a significant change. My father, in contrast, remained unapologetic. When he finally called six months into his probation, his version of reconciliation involved suggesting I return to Portland to help rebuild the family name through a new business venture he was considering.

I don’t think that would be healthy for either of us, Dad, I said gently. Still holding grudges, I see, he replied bitterly. I thought you were the forgiving one in the family.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean putting myself back in a harmful situation, I explained, recalling Dr. Miles’s exact words on the subject. I… can forgive you and still maintain my boundaries, he scoffed. Boundaries.

That’s therapist talk. Yes, it is, I acknowledged. And therapy has helped me understand a lot about our family dynamics…