Chapter 4: What He Should Have Said Months Ago
Mom didn't move.
I walked to the front door and opened it before Richard could knock.
He stood on the porch with his hands at his sides.
No briefcase.
He'd left that behind.
His face was different from every Sunday dinner version of him I'd seen — the easy smile, the relaxed shoulders.
All of it was gone.
"I need to speak with your mother," he said.
"I know you do."
I stepped back and let him in.
He walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw Mom.
She was still seated at the table.
The photograph was face-up between them.
He looked at it for a moment.
Then he sat down across from her without being invited.
"Eleanor." His voice was low.
"I should have told you a long time ago."
Mom didn't look at him right away.
When she did, her eyes were dry.
"Then tell me now."
Richard put both hands on the table.
"Dana is my daughter.
Biologically.
I didn't raise her.
Her mother and I were together briefly when I was thirty-one.
She didn't tell me she was pregnant.
I didn't know Dana existed until three years ago."
Mom said nothing.
"Her mother passed away.
Dana found me through a DNA registry.
She was thirty-one by then.
We'd been building a relationship slowly — carefully — for almost two years before the accident."
"And after the accident?" Mom asked.
"She had no one else.
Her mother's family had cut her off years ago.
She had a few friends, but no one who could take responsibility for her care.
No one who would." He looked down at his hands.
"I wasn't going to let her disappear into the system."
"So you paid for her care."
"Yes."
"Every night."
"Yes."
Mom picked up the photograph and looked at it.
"She wrote your name on this."
"She started doing that about four months ago.
The doctors said it was a good sign.
That she was forming consistent attachments again." His voice caught slightly on the last word.
He steadied it.
"She doesn't always know who I am when I arrive.
Some nights she thinks I'm someone else entirely.
But she knows she's safe when I'm there.
That's enough."
Chloe, who had been standing in the doorway, made a small sound.
She pressed her hand over her mouth and looked away.
Mom set the photograph down.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"Not at the beginning, if it was too soon.
But after six months.
After I told you things about my life I haven't told anyone since my husband d*ed.
Why didn't you trust me with this?"
Richard was quiet for a moment.
"Because I was afraid," he said.
"Of what?"
"That you'd think I was too complicated.
Too burdened.
That you'd decide I wasn't worth the weight of it." He looked at her directly.
"I've watched people step back from Dana's situation before.
Friends.
People I thought were solid.
They said the right things and then they slowly disappeared.
I didn't want to watch you do that."
"So instead you lied to me."
"I omitted.
I know that's not much better."
"It isn't," Mom said.
The kitchen was very quiet.
Then Mom asked the question I hadn't thought to ask.
"Does she know about me?"
Richard blinked.
"Does Dana know you exist," Mom said.
"Does she know you've been spending your Sundays with someone?"
He hesitated just a moment too long.
"No," he said.
"She doesn't."
Mom nodded slowly.
She stood up from the table, picked up the photograph, and held it out to him.
"Then that's the next conversation you need to have," she said.
"With her."
Richard took the photograph.
He held it carefully, the way you hold something you almost lost.
"Eleanor—"
"I'm not ending this," Mom said.
"But I'm also not pretending tonight didn't happen.
I need some time."
He nodded.
He stood.
He looked like he wanted to say more and understood that he shouldn't.
He was almost to the front door when Mom spoke again.
"Richard."
He turned.
"What's her favorite thing?
When you read to her.
What does she like?"
He stood very still for a moment.
"Old mysteries," he said.
"Agatha Christie, mostly.
She laughs at the same parts every time, even when she doesn't remember she's heard it before."
Mom looked at him for a long moment.
"Goodnight, Richard."
He left.
I stood beside Mom as his headlights backed out of the driveway.
May you like
She watched until they disappeared.
Then she said, quietly, "I want to meet her."
