<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Apology on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/apology/</link><description>Recent content in Apology on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 23 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/apology/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>How to Apologize</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/how-to-apologize/</link><pubDate>Sat, 23 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/how-to-apologize/</guid><description>&lt;p>Beverly came to see me in the spring. Not for grief, she said, and she wanted me to understand that right away. Nobody had died.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>Her daughter had stopped speaking to her three years before. Beverly was sixty-eight. Her daughter was forty-one. The thing that started it was a comment Beverly had made at a holiday dinner, something she meant as honest that her daughter heard as a verdict. They argued. The argument widened into a gap that neither of them had the tools to cross. Then the gap became familiar. Three years of Christmas cards not sent, phone calls that got shorter and then stopped. Now Beverly was sitting across from me with her hands folded in her lap saying she wanted to apologize. She just didn&amp;rsquo;t know how.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>