“Say what?”
“That if it weren’t for me, you’d have divorced Dad and been happy.”
Eric turned toward me.
“I said it, Lily.”
I called Jess before breakfast.
“Claire…”
“I said those words. I’m so sorry you heard them.”
“So it’s true.”
“No. Can I tell you who said them first?”
She didn’t nod. She didn’t leave either.
“Grandma. All through my childhood. ‘If it weren’t for you, I’d have divorced your father and been happy.'”
“Then why did Mom say it?”
“That’s mean.”
“It was. On the phone, I was telling Aunt Jess how hard things were with Dad. Then I repeated Grandma’s line.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared I’d turn into her. And I said I’d never make my kids feel that.”
“I didn’t hear that part.”
“You’d already gone upstairs.”
“I said it, Lily.”
“But you wanted to leave Dad.”
Lily looked at her father.
“Did you know?”
He lowered his head.
“I suspected. Your mom and I had been arguing more.”
Lily rubbed her eyes with her fists.
“I said those words. I’m so sorry you heard them.”
“I was scared that if I told you, you’d both get mad and leave me.”
“Lily, look at me.”
She did.
“That’s between your dad and me. It doesn’t mean we’ll love any of you less.”
I continued, trying not to cry myself.
“Also you didn’t make Dad fall. A broken step did.”
“But you wanted to leave Dad.”
“And nothing you said could do that,” said Eric.
“We love you. Not because of how we’re doing. Not because of anything.”
“Even if you get divorced?”
“Even then. That never changes.”
“We’re not planning to anymore,” Eric said.
“Mom has a lawyer’s card,” said Lily. “I saw it.”
“Your mom and I had been arguing more.”
“I threw it away the day Dad woke up,” I said.
“Really?”
“Check the trash if you want.”
“When Dad wouldn’t wake up, I’d have given anything to hear him complain about the dishwasher. I just wanted my family back.”
“And I woke up knowing what I almost missed,” said Eric. “We’ll fix it. Your mom and me. It’ll take work.”
“We’re not planning to anymore.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise to try every day,” I said. “That’s the honest one.”
Lily wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Okay.”
Then she climbed onto the bed, carefully, on his good side.
Eric squeezed my hand over her head.
“We’ll fix it. Your mom and me. It’ll take work.”
“Tonight,” he said quietly. “You and me. We start talking.”
“About what?”
“Everything we skipped.”
That night she unpacked the ladybug suitcase herself.
Pajamas into the drawer. The rabbit back on her pillow. The folded note, she tore into tiny pieces.
She kept the jar of coins.
“Do you promise?”
“Just in case,” she said.
“Just in case of what?”
“A new bike.”
I decided to believe her.
Later I texted Eric: She unpacked.
His answer came in under a minute: Ours next.
“You and me. We start talking.”
