He owed me an apology. We were on the way to a church picnic and he couldn't get the trunk of my car open to put in some food. It opened, he shoved in the food, snarled something hostile, slammed the trunk, strode back to the house, slammed the bedroom door and sulked for an hour. Then decided to forgive me. But it did set me to wondering about who decides who forgives whom.
Forgiveness can be a quicksilver changeling, twisting from reward to punishment.
In the plot of a mystery movie I enjoyed some years ago a man attempted to kill his boring wife by throwing her off a mountain. He failed to kill her, but instead crippled himself and would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. The police brought him to trial but the jury acquitted him because of some kink in the evidence. Following the direction of eyes the camera shows the mistreated wife as she wheels the murderous husband out of the courtroom. The villain becomes the victim of a life sentence of forgiveness from the person he wanted most to be rid of. . . .