Chapter 10: The Two Weeks, and After
Judy left on a Thursday.
She didn't make a scene.
She didn't call the extended family.
She didn't pursue the down payment claim.
She packed the same two suitcases she'd arrived with, and Mark drove her to a short-term rental she'd arranged in a town forty minutes away.
He texted me when it was done.
*She's settled.
I'm on my way back.*
I was already home.
I'd moved back in two days earlier, once we knew the date was set.
I'd walked through the rooms slowly when I arrived, relearning the feel of them.
The nursery.
The kitchen.
The quiet.
When Mark came through the door, Riley was in my arms.
He stopped in the hallway and looked at us.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
He crossed the room and put his arms around both of us.
We stood there for a moment, the three of us, not saying anything.
"I'm sorry," he said into my hair.
"I keep saying it because I don't know what else to say."
"You can say it as many times as you need to," I said.
"And then you can show me."
He pulled back enough to look at me.
"How do I show you?"
"By not doing it again.
By telling me the truth even when it's hard.
By choosing us first."
"I will," he said.
"I promise."
I looked at him for a moment.
This man I had married.
This man who had made a serious mistake out of love for his mother and conflict avoidance and the particular blindness that some children have for the parents who raised them.
He wasn't a villain.
He was someone who had needed to learn something the hard way.
"Okay," I said.
We were going to have to rebuild some things.
Trust doesn't come back all at once — it comes back in small moments, small choices, accumulated over time.
I knew that.
He knew that.
But we were in the same house.
We were having the same conversations.
That was somewhere to start.
Three weeks later, Judy called.
I was in the kitchen when my phone rang.
I looked at the screen.
Let it ring twice.
Then I answered.
"Judy."
"Kate." A pause.
"I wanted to call.
I've been thinking about what you said.
About honesty." Another pause.
"I'd like to see Riley.
If that's something you'd consider.
I'm not asking to come back.
I just — I'd like to know her."
I looked out the window at the backyard.
Riley's baby monitor was on the counter, the little green light blinking steadily.
"That's something we can talk about," I said.
"Mark and I together.
We'll let you know."
"That's fair," she said.
"Judy." I hesitated.
"I meant what I said at the coffee shop.
I hope we can do this better."
A long pause.
"I think I owe you more than an apology," she said quietly.
"I'm not sure I know how to give it yet.
But I'm trying to figure that out."
It wasn't a full apology.
It wasn't a transformation.
But it was real — the first real thing she'd said to me since I'd known her.
"Take your time," I said.
We hung up.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment.
Then I went to check on Riley.
She was awake in the bassinet, looking up at the mobile above her with the focused, serious expression she got sometimes, like she was working something out.
I picked her up.
She turned her face toward mine.
"It's going to be okay," I told her.
She grabbed my finger.
I stood there in the quiet of my own home, holding my daughter, and I believed it.
---
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