One of them, Sonia Davis, told me her own story—how her children had also used her for years, how she had finally said “enough is enough,” and how after a difficult year, her children had returned with a different attitude.
“Not everyone comes back,” she warned me. “Some never understand. But even if they don’t come back, you’ll be okay, because you finally have yourself.”
She was right.
A month passed, then two. March arrived with its warmer days and longer nights. I was still living my new life—calm, autonomous, at peace.
One Tuesday afternoon, I was in my garden planting flowers when I heard the gate open. I looked up and saw Robert standing there alone, with his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, Mom.”
I took off my gardening gloves and stood up.
“Robert.”
“Can I come in?”
I thought about it for a moment. Then I nodded.
“You can come in.”
We went into the house. I served him some water. We sat in the living room with the painting of the woman looking at the sea watching us from the wall.
“Nice painting,” he said.
“I bought it on my trip.”
