She can be very charming, you know.
Say the right words, put on the right costume. She smiles and laughs– and it rings hollow to me, but others seem to think it’s natural. It’s nothing like the tinkling glass chimes that is my youngest munchkin’s laughter, the kind that sounds like a waterfall. You’d never even be able to tell they were related. Still, it makes others believe her. I guess.
I thought I remembered her saying she was sorry. For how she treated me. But now I think about it and she never did. Not really. She said words around it, but not the words themselves.
Oh, it wouldn’t have mattered.
I wouldn’t have believed them. Maybe that’s why she never bothered, because she and I both knew the falseness of any such words she might utter. But the truth is, I don’t think she ever felt she had anything to apologize for.
I don’t think I’ll ever get apologies from the ones who owe it to me (in the sense that anybody “owes” anything). I won’t have to worry about whether it’s the right thing to tell them it’s okay.
I won’t have to come up with any response at all.
Because I’ll never hear the words, from them, in the first place.
Perhaps it’s best that way. This way, I don’t have to worry about what to say after.