But yesterday was an entirely different day in my life.

The real blow was delivered by Everett and Natasha. One evening, I overheard them talking.

“Do you think we’ll be treated like Jason as we get older?” Everett asked in a quiet, hesitant voice.

Natasha shrugged, but her eyes were worried. Hopefully not. It’s unfair how they handle him.

Those are more incisive comments than any criticism from family. My own foster children were afraid they would end up like Jason—ignored and invisible. I experienced regret all over me. How was I supposed to miss it? I had not noticed the stark and evident difference in treatment.

I knew I had to make things right. The next day, I delivered a homemade pie to Jason’s new apartment as a gesture of goodwill.

When he opened the door, he appeared uncomfortable.

“Jason, may I speak now?” I asked, trying not to speak too loudly. I brought “pie.”

He stepped back to give me space. The apartment was cozy yet small, exactly as my parents had described. The fact that he was already so relaxed hit me square in the belly.

“I wanted to apologize,” I said, setting the pie down on the kitchen counter. “I was so focused on everything else that I was blind to how much you were struggling.”

Jason folded his arms and rested against the wall. “I don’t believe it’s too late for that.”

I murmured, “I know,” and constricted my throat. “But I want everything to be in order.”

He sighed and turned his back. “Mom, thank you for your work, but I require further time. I need space.

Months went by while my parents continued to visit Jason. I was constantly reminded of my flaws when I saw them. They may not have said it out loud, but their actions spoke louder than their words. They were following my recommendations right from the start.

The more I watched Jason succeed, the more introspective I became. I initially made very small changes as soon as I learned how terrible my mistakes had been.

In addition to spending more time with Natasha and Everett, I urged Ashley to look for a part-time job to help pay for her automobile. The dynamics in our house steadily improved and grew more harmonic.

I kept going to see Jason, offering him little signs of my worry. Sometimes he let me in, and other times he refused. Still, I continued to try and hold onto optimism.

He once said to me as I was leaving his apartment, “Thanks for the pie, Mom.” It was fun.

It was a start, even though it wasn’t much.

As I drove home, I allowed myself to hope. Maybe one day he’ll forgive me. Maybe we may get back together later on. I could only keep trying to tell him that I had changed and that I would always be there for him up until that point.