Do you remember the conversation we had in that old coffee shop in town? We spent the whole afternoon there. I’m sure you remember the time I’m talking about, even though it was nearly eighteen years ago. I don’t think we’d ever had such an open and honest discussion before. I was twenty-two, and in my eyes, you were beginning to change from a mother who stood far above me to a woman who walked by my side.

You told me you were very happy with me, but that you regretted ever meeting Father. You wished you’d chosen a different partner for yourself, and a different father for me. One who was less selfish. Two years earlier, we’d gotten word from Aruba that he drowned while diving—but by that point, we hadn’t seen or heard anything from him for six years. His absence had shadowed my entire youth. My tough, handsome father—why did he choose another woman over us? Didn’t he think we were good enough? I often blamed myself, and sometimes I blamed you. So unfair, but I didn’t know any better.

Because you had made the wrong choices when it came to men, you thought it was your duty to protect me. “Children should do better than their parents, not repeat their mistakes,” you said. You were talking about my choosing Werner.

You didn’t think he was a bad person, and you said as much. Those were the exact words you used, and only then did I understand the situation—that you actually couldn’t stand him.

“There’s a lack of warmth in his character; it’s as though nothing really touches him,” you said that afternoon. When I told you that you’d gotten it all wrong—that when we were together, he was really very kind and loving, and that I would rather be with a tough guy than a tree hugger anyway—all you did was shake your head.

What neither of us knew on that day was that I was already a month pregnant with Sara. You never said anything negative about Werner again, though you made your point very clear in a different way further down the line. Fortunately, you never let the children see any sign of your aversion to him. We went on to have many more conversations, but I never forgot that afternoon. Usually, the memory roused feelings of anger and frustration. Didn’t I make better choices than you when it came to men? Only now, over the last few years, have the things you said back then finally sunk in. A little late, right? I always was a slow learner. But I think I now fully understand what you meant that afternoon. You were wise; I was young and in love. And pregnant.