I had imagined that selling the house would feel like losing another piece of James.
Instead, I found myself thinking about how delighted he’d been whenever I tried something new.
He used to say I spent too much time doing things for everyone else.
Then he’d hand me a cup of tea and tell me to sit down.
I touched the doorframe.
“Well, James,” I said quietly, “I finally listened.”
Then I went outside.
Gabriella was waiting beside her car.
“Ready, Helen?”
I took one last look at the pear tree.
“Ready.”
She drove me to my new home.
On my first Sunday in the condominium, Michael and Noah came for lunch.
Vanessa had been invited too, but she was working that afternoon.
Our relationship remained cautious.
She’d sent a thoughtful message asking whether I needed help unpacking, and I’d thanked her.
I wasn’t prepared to pretend that one apology had repaired years of disrespect.
But I also didn’t need to keep fighting with her.
Michael had been making progress at his temporary job while interviewing for positions closer to his former field.
He and Vanessa were managing their apartment expenses.
Noah seemed happy with his new school routine.
And my son had begun calling simply to ask how I was doing.
Not to ask for money.
Not to ask for a favor.
Just to talk.
When they arrived, Noah rushed toward the balcony.
“Grandma! You can see the park!”
“I know.”
“And there’s a place for Tilly’s bed!”
“She’s already claimed it.”
