As Grant kept begging, my mother quietly placed her yarn and crochet hook aside. She didn't rush. She didn't cry out. She simply stood up, walked to the table, and picked up a large glass jar.
"Darling, what are you doing?" Grant asked, confused and uneasy.
She held the jar between her hands and looked at him calmly. "Every time you disappointed me in the past, I put a coin in this jar. I told myself that if this jar ever became full, I would leave you."
She unscrewed the lid slowly. The sound was small, but in that silent room, it felt loud. "Now there's only one coin left before it fills up. Grant, can you promise me that in the years ahead, you will never disappoint me again?"
Grant didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the jar, on the countless coins inside. He knew he had hurt Lena , but I don't think he ever understood how deeply those disappointments had piled up. Each coin was a memory. Each coin was a wound.
