“That’s your decision.”
“We need to figure out what we want, and whether we’re capable of making those decisions together.”
I took a sip of coffee.
“Then perhaps you’ll enjoy the house more when you’re ready.”
He smiled.
“Will you still come here?”
“Of course. If you invite me.”
He laughed.
“Mom, you’re always invited.”
I studied him.
“You might want to discuss that with your wife.”
His smile faded slightly.
Then he nodded.
“I will.”
We sat together for a while without talking.
A small fishing boat moved slowly across the water.
Somewhere below the veranda, the old dock creaked in the breeze.
Ethan reached into his jacket pocket.
“I brought you something.”
He handed me the polished wooden box.
The same one I’d carried into the wedding reception.
Inside was an envelope.
I opened it.
The original letter had been carefully pieced together and placed between two sheets of transparent archival material.
The torn edges were still visible.
Vanessa had not tried to disguise them.
“She asked whether you’d want it back,” Ethan said.
I touched the envelope.
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
