I hadn’t realized how much I needed someone to say it—until she did.
“You should be grateful,” Sylvia went on, her voice unwavering. “Grateful that a smart, beautiful woman saw something in you when you had nothing but potential and a smile. You’ve grown because she believed in you. And now you want to rewrite history because you think it sounds funny at dinner?”
The silence that followed was thick. Not awkward—just full. Full of things said and understood. Full of the past laid bare.
“Kids, go to the living room,” I said quietly. “Gran and I will bring you ice cream and pie soon.”
The kids ran off, leaving the three of us at the table.
Then Alan spoke, his voice calm but steady. “Your mother and I were the same way, you know. I had nothing when we met. But I respected her. I thanked her every day for giving me the chance to grow beside her. And when history repeated itself with you two… I knew Elena would keep you safe and grounded. But this—” he shook his head, “I have no words for you, Jonah.”
Jonah still didn’t look up.
I stood, picked up my wine glass, and excused myself to the kitchen. My hands trembled, but I didn’t want them to see. In the next room, the kids’ laughter floated in—bright and innocent, untouched by what had just unfolded.
I turned on the tap and let the water run, staring into the sink, trying to breathe. Trying not to let the moment break me.
