An image formed in her mind of five-year-old Aiden sitting on his porch stoop waiting for his mother’s return. Maybe he didn’t remember the moment, but it still happened, still left an indelible impression.

If Sophie loved him—and she did—shouldn’t she have protected that wound instead of exploiting it?

When she’d argued with her siblings as a child her mother used to lecture them on giving each other grace. “Think the best of one another,” she said.

Sophie had neglected to do this the first time he’d left, and she hadn’t done it when he left last week. Furthermore, she was starting to see that she’d transferred some of her resentment from her dad to Aiden. They’d both deserted her on the same day, but it was her dad’s abandonment that changed her life. He was the one who was supposed to tend to his wife and family. It was his fault she'd had to put her life on hold—not Aiden’s.

Why was it so much easier for her to extend grace to her family?

The answer came as she gathered a pile of garbage and grit into a pile. Her love for Aiden went to the deepest recesses of her heart. The threat of losing it activated a depth of fear she’d never felt outside her relationship with him.

But didn’t that kind of love require even more patience, more kindness, more grace? Didn’t she owe it to Aiden—and to herself—to model what true love really was?

She dropped the broom and pulled out her phone, opening it to her texts with Aiden. Her fingers hovered over the digital keyboard as her mind whirled with what to say.

It all boiled down to one simple thing. Her fingers went into motion as she tapped out two simple words: I’m sorry.

Her finger hovered over the button for only an instant before she tapped the button, sending the message.

*  *  *

Aiden plugged his phone into his kitchen charger and flipped on the TV. He lounged in his shorts and T-shirt, belly full, the smell of pizza lingering in the air. The commentators droned on about the Braves’ excellent season, reciting statistics that went in one ear and out the other.

He was mulling over last night’s conversation with his dad. Last night he’d tossed and turned. All through church he’d been preoccupied. Now the baseball game was also failing to hold his attention.

Even though Aiden had been too young when she left to remember much about his mom, her leaving had undoubtedly left its mark. Everyone knew such events in early childhood could have a lasting impact.