A week later, she stood outside a modest townhouse in a quiet Ontario neighborhood. Her hand lifted to knock—but before her knuckles met the door, it swung open.
Karen stood there.
For a moment, they just stared at each other—two years of silence, guilt, grief, and longing hovering between them.
Then Karen stepped forward. “Mom…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. They embraced, the kind of hug that breaks and heals all at once.
No words were needed. Only love.
After two long years, the seat at the table would no longer be empty. They were whole again.
