“Not ‘I miss you.’ Not ‘I’m sorry.’ Not even ‘can I come.’ She’s bringing Grant.”
“I’d bet on it.”
Grant was the man Diane had left with. Her boss. The one with the car, the vacations, the money — the life she’d always claimed she deserved.
I’d been standing in that same hallway fifteen years earlier, nine-month-old Willow in my arms. Nora was thirteen, barefoot on the stairs. Sadie was eight. The triplets — Harper, Ruby, and Vivian — were five, sobbing in the living room because they couldn’t understand why their mother was throwing clothes into suitcases.
“Diane, slow down,” I’d begged. “We can talk after the girls are asleep.”
“That’s all we ever do, Robert,” she’d snapped. “Talk. Count bills. Stretch groceries. And pretend that’s enough.”
I lifted Willow higher against my chest. “They are enough.”
Diane looked at our baby, then back at me. “You can’t just walk out on six children.”
Her eyes flashed. “You can’t give me the life I want. But Grant can. He bought me a brand-new car, Robert. He took me to the Maldives. Do you understand the kind of life he gives me? The kind of life I deserve?”
“Diane,” I whispered. “Our daughter can hear you.”
Back in my kitchen, Nora sat across from me.
“I can tell her no,” I said. “This is your wedding.”
“Tell her she’s welcome.”
My stomach sank. “Nora.”
“She’s not coming for you, Dad. She’s coming to perform.”
“I know that.”
“Then why let her?”
She studied me for a long moment. “Because you spent fifteen years protecting us from the truth. I think it’s time the truth protected you instead.”
I went still. “You know what I’m asking for,” she said.
“The box stays where it is.”
“The box, Dad.”
Inside were fifteen years of things I’d sent to Diane, every single one returned. Birthday invitations. School photos. Recital programs. Graduation notices. Printed emails. Returned envelopes. Cards the girls had made before they finally stopped asking whether Mom might come next time.
I hadn’t kept it for revenge. I’d kept it because one day my daughters might ask whether I’d tried.
And I wanted to be able to say yes.
“That box is ugly,” I said.
