He nodded. “Yeah. She was.”
He looked down at his hands.
He looked up at me with honest pain in his eyes.
“So now, every day at three, I sit with her for one hour.
I tell her I’m sorry. I tell her I’m sober and what happened at my latest meeting. I read the books she likes.
The bookstore manager told my wife what she used to buy, so I went and got them.”
He shrugged.
“It doesn’t change what I did,” he said. “But it’s something I can do that isn’t hiding.”
My eyes were burning.
“You could’ve just stayed away,” I said.
“I tried,” he said. “Didn’t last.
My sponsor told me if I wanted to make amends, I had to face it. Not run from it.”
He hesitated.
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