The cardboard boxes Jessica had placed beside my bed.
The single narrow window.
The photographs of William I’d been forced to move to make room for Barbara’s belongings.
Then I answered:
“No.”
My voice remained calm.
“Not over three hundred dollars.”
A pause.
“Over the fact that you’ve forgotten I’m your mother.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked away.
“Mom, you’re being sensitive.”
I smiled sadly.
“Maybe.”
Then I returned to wrapping my photographs.
For the first time, I didn’t need him to agree with my feelings before I acted on them.
—
The closing took place the following Tuesday.
I signed the documents.
Received the keys.
And stood outside the bungalow beneath the live oak tree.
Sophie smiled.
“Congratulations, Eleanor.”
I looked toward the green front door.
For a moment, my eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
Diane hugged me.
Then handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a card.
“William would be proud of you. May this home be the beginning of many wonderful years.”
I covered my mouth.
And cried.
Because for the first time since my husband’s death, I wasn’t simply surviving the days.
I was choosing what they would look like.
And that was something Tyler had never imagined I could do without him.
