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My eyes blurred. “People might always remember what I did.”

“Yes, they might.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Because I’m your daughter.”

“And?”

I laughed. “You’re terrible at comforting.”

“No. I’m realistic.” She reached for her wine. “You cannot control the story people tell about you. You can only control whether you keep giving them new chapters that support it. You stopped, and that matters.”

I wiped my cheeks. “I think I want to apologize to Ravenna.”

“You already apologized.”

“That was years ago.”

Mama shrugged. “Write her.”

I frowned. “A letter?”

“If you need to, but don’t write her six pages explaining what that man told you.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Tell her what you did. Tell her you understand she didn’t deserve it, and tell her you don’t expect anything back.”

I stared at my hands. “And if she never responds?”

Mama shrugged. “Then she never responds.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But what if she tears it up?”

“Then the garbage man gets what she considers trash.”

I laughed loudly. “Mama!”

“Your apology is something you give. Forgiveness is something she decides whether she wants to give back. Don’t send an apology with an invoice attached.”

I frowned. “What invoice?”

“ I said sorry, so now please release me. You apologize because it is right, then you keep living.”

I nodded slowly. “I think I’ve been waiting for people to believe I changed.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“Then stop.”