She looked toward the crib.
“Every time someone complimented me for being such a good mother, I should have corrected them.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
She took a shaky breath.
“I started wanting those moments. I wanted her to tell me things first. I wanted teachers to call me. I wanted her to reach for me.”
Her face crumpled.
“I knew some of those experiences should have belonged to you. I simply stopped caring enough to give them back.”
Her confession hurt more than any denial could have.
Sarah had not accidentally crossed one boundary.
She had crossed it repeatedly because being needed by Emma eased her pain.
Then she admitted something I would never forget.
“When Emma accidentally called me Mom, I used to correct her.”
She paused.
“Then one day, I stopped.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
I had expected anger to consume me.
