By summer, Caroline and Todd moved into a smaller rental. Caroline posted it as a “fresh start,” staged photos like it was aesthetic, not forced.
Todd looked lighter at a cousin’s graduation party—less panic in his eyes.
Caroline didn’t come. She claimed migraines. I suspected shame.
My dad spoke to me for the first time in months.
“Lucy,” he said awkwardly.
“Dad.”
He cleared his throat. “Your mother says you’ve… been letting her visit.”
“I have.”
He nodded. “I was wrong,” he said suddenly, voice rough.
I froze. My dad didn’t say that.
“I was wrong not to stop Caroline,” he continued. “I thought keeping the peace was being a good father.”
“And now?” I asked.
He looked up, eyes shining. “Now I see I was just being quiet.”
“Luke needed you,” I said.
“I know,” he whispered. “Does he still… like me?”
That question cracked something—it wasn’t pride anymore. It was fear.
“Luke loves you,” I said. “But he needs to trust you.”
“How do I earn that?” he asked.
“Show up,” I said. “Not just holidays. For him.”
He nodded. “I’ll try.”
And he did—small at first. A text about soccer tryouts. Visits with no Caroline talk. A real apology to Luke in our living room.
“I should’ve spoken up,” my dad told him. “I didn’t. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Luke stared, then nodded once. “Okay. Just… don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” my dad promised.
Luke didn’t hug him right away, but he let my dad sit beside him and look through the telescope.
Progress.
Caroline stayed silent—until October.
She texted: Can we talk?
I stared a long time, then replied: If it’s about Luke, yes.
Part 9
Caroline arrived on a Wednesday evening.
No pounding. No theatrics. Just a knock.
When I opened the door, she looked… smaller. Not physically—posture. Like arrogance used to hold her upright and now it was gone.
She held a paper bag. “Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi,” I said, stepping aside.
Luke was in his room doing homework. I’d told him she might come and he could choose. He chose to stay in his room, door cracked.
Caroline sat at my kitchen table like a guest—careful, uncertain. The reversal almost made me dizzy.
She set the bag down. “I brought cookies,” she said, then rushed, “Store-bought. Not like… poisoned.”
A weak attempt at humor. It didn’t land.
I sat across from her. “Why are you here?”
She swallowed. “Because I messed up,” she said quietly.
I waited.
“I keep replaying it,” she admitted. “The turkey. The way his face… changed.”
“Yes,” I said.