Thalia looked toward him.
“I want us to have something we’ve built ourselves,” she said.
He turned to her.
“So do I.”
For several minutes, they discussed the agreement without involving me.
I went into the kitchen and brought back another pot of coffee.
When I returned, Darren had placed the pages neatly in the folder.
“We’d like time to review it,” he said.
“Of course.”
He hesitated.
“And Mom? I don’t want to talk about inheriting anything again. That’s not why I want to see you.”
I watched him.
“I hope that’s true, sweetheart.”
He nodded.
I didn’t tell him everything was forgiven.
And he didn’t ask me to.
Over the following months, our conversations became less guarded.
Darren and Thalia chose to remain in the house under a written occupancy agreement they had reviewed independently.
They began making the required contributions and took responsibility for the expenses assigned to them.
I kept the property in the trust.
There was no sudden transfer of ownership, and I made no promises about who would inherit it.
Thalia stopped treating my appearance as an invitation to comment on my circumstances.
She also began asking ordinary questions.
What books I was reading.
Whether the literacy program needed volunteers.
How I’d met Harold.
Sometimes she listened more than she spoke.
Darren called every Sunday.
Not to ask whether I could help with a bill.
Just to talk.
