that her son had made out of youthful sentiment.
I told myself Ethan was caught between two women he loved.
It took me years to understand that he had simply chosen the woman whose approval mattered most to him.
And it wasn’t me.
So that morning, when he said those four familiar words, I didn’t argue.
I bent down, picked up my fallen sweater, folded it carefully, and placed it inside my suitcase.
Margaret watched me with obvious satisfaction.
“Good,” she said. “At least you’re finally learning when to leave.”
