“I am,” he replied, his voice cracking like old leather. “I just didn’t know how to show it.”

In that moment, I realized that his silence had been more about his struggles than my shortcomings. It didn’t excuse his actions, but it offered a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could rebuild what had been broken. And as we sat there, enveloped in the quiet understanding of our shared imperfections, I felt the first stirrings of forgiveness.