Chapter 7
Three weeks later, I sold the old house.The money went into an account under my name alone.
I bought a small white cottage near the water.
It had a porch.
A garden.
Two rocking chairs.
And a quiet corner for Ernest’s photograph.
I wasn’t replacing him.
I was making space for him.
One Sunday afternoon, someone knocked.
I knew who stood outside before opening the door.
Austin was alone.
No sunglasses.
No expensive shirt.
No demanding tone.
Just my son.
He carried a small box.
“Can I come in?”
I studied him.
Then moved aside.
Austin set the box on the table.
Inside were my wedding earrings.
The earrings I had sold years earlier to afford Ernest’s medicine.
I stared at them.
“Where did you get these?”
“I bought them back.”
My eyes filled.
“I know they aren’t the same.”
“No,” I whispered.
“They’re not.”
Austin nodded.
“I can’t give you back the years.”
“No.”
“I can’t erase what I did.”
“No.”
“But I can stop asking you to carry me.”
For the first time, my son sounded like an adult.
I touched the earrings.
Then looked at him.
“You can stay for dinner.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re washing the dishes.”
May you like
He laughed.
And for the first time in years, hearing it didn’t hurt.
