“We both have to do better.”
He nodded.
The porch light flickered on as Diane approached.
She had arranged for a locksmith and suggested we preserve every letter, email, and message concerning the property.
Caleb offered to stay.
I looked toward the house.
For the first time in my life, I was afraid to sleep there.
But I refused to let that fear decide where I belonged.
“You can stay in the guest room tonight,” I told him. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure out the rest.”
He accepted without argument.
That night, I placed the roses in Michael’s old crystal vase.
Caleb stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Dad used to give you those every anniversary.”
“Yes.”
“I remember helping him cut them.”
I smiled faintly.
“You always chose the crooked ones.”
He almost laughed.
Then his face grew serious.
“Mom, did you know those flowers were supposed to be at the wedding?”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
He stared at the vase.
“I asked the florist to arrange twelve roses from your garden. I thought it would be a surprise.”
My breath caught.
“Sabrina told me they were leftovers from the ceremony.”
He shook his head.
“No. I wanted you to carry them when we took the family photographs.”
I stared at the flowers.
Each stem had been carefully wrapped.
