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Her confession hung in the air like incense, heavy and sacred. I looked at my mother, who stood slowly and walked to the woman in white. Ellen froze, unsure, until my mother reached out her hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew about you,\u201d my mother said gently. \u201cHe told me once. Over dinner. He said there was a girl he lost to the war. But when he came back, he wasn\u2019t the same man. He carried that loss quietly.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ellen broke down, tears streaking her face.<\/p>\n
My mother smiled through her own tears. \u201cHe loved deeply. And now I know whose heart held him first.\u201d<\/p>\n
They embraced. And it wasn\u2019t awkward. It wasn\u2019t bitter. It was healing. Two women, bound by the same man, acknowledging love in all its forms.<\/p>\n
I stepped forward, my voice soft. \u201cThank you,\u201d I whispered to Ellen.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n