On the four-block walk to our house，I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front door upon entering，refuse to return her hug when she would rush over to me，and vow never to speak to her again.
The house was empty when I arrived，and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother’s absence，but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreak and rage. For the first time in my life，my mother had let me down.
I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.
“Robbie，”she called out a bit urgently，“Where are you?”
I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room，wondering where I could be. I remained silent. In a moment，she mounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickening as she ascended the staircase.
When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed，I didn’t move but instead stared blankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.
“I’m so sorry，honey，”she said，“I just forgot. I got busy and forgot，plain and simple.”
I still didn’t move.“Don’t forgive her，”I told myself，“She humiliated you. She forgot you. Make her pay.”
Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to laugh. I could feel her shudder as the laughter shook her. It began quietly at first and then increased in its velocity and volume.
I was incredulous. How could she laugh at a time like this? I rolled over and faced her，ready to let her see the rage and disappointment in my eyes.
But my mother wasn’t laughing at all. She was crying.“I’m so sorry，”she sobbed softly，“I let you down. I let my little boy down.”