“No.”
“If Grandma loves him, can she still love us?”
“Yes.”
He leaned into me then, and I held him like I had when he was small enough to fit against my chest with three siblings waiting their turn.
“I don’t want another dad,” he whispered.
“You don’t need one.”
“Do you?”
The question pierced me.
I kissed his hair.
“No, baby. I needed peace. I have that.”
But that night, after the children were asleep, I stood in the kitchen and wondered whether that was entirely true.
Peace, yes.
But also loneliness in the quiet hours.
Not for Daniel.
Never again for Daniel.
But for the version of myself who had built walls so strong even comfort needed permission to enter.
Spring arrived with bluebonnets across Texas highways and Margaret on a plane to Austin.
She did not come to the house first.
She asked.
That mattered too.
