“I fixed it,” he said.
I looked at him, disbelief rising. “You think handing me this makes it okay?”
“I don’t.”
No defense. No justification.
Somehow, that made it worse.
“Why didn’t you trust me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you let me help you?”
He didn’t respond.
And that silence said more than any explanation could.
I went back inside and told the girls everything.
No softened version. No shielding them.
Jenny didn’t care about the money—she cared about the years he had missed.
Lyra wanted answers.
Dora just looked puzzled.
“He left… and now he’s back with paperwork?” she asked.
That’s exactly how it felt.
“We should talk to him,” Lyra said.
So we called him in.
When he stepped inside, no one moved.
There were no hugs. No relief.
Just distance.
“You really stayed away all this time?” Lyra asked.
He nodded.
“Did you think it wouldn’t matter?” Dora said.
“I thought you’d be better off.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I know.”
Jenny spoke last. “You missed everything.”
He didn’t argue.
Because he couldn’t.
Then Dora asked the only question that truly mattered.
“Are you staying?”
“If you’ll let me.”
No one answered right away.
Then she said quietly, “We should make dinner.”
And somehow, that was enough.
Not forgiveness. Not closure.
Just a start.
Later that night, I stepped outside. He was still there.
“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” I told him.
“I know.”
“They’re going to have a lot of questions.”
“I’m ready.”
For the first time in fifteen years, there was nothing left unsaid.
