Chapter 13
We sold the house.
I thought I could reclaim it.
I was wrong.
Lily still stared at the dining room table.
Mason still avoided the pantry on visits.
I needed walls with no memory of Vanessa’s voice.
We moved into a smaller home near Eric.
It had a sunny kitchen, no walk-in pantry, and a backyard big enough for two kids to run without checking adult faces first.
Lily chose yellow curtains.
Mason helped hang them badly.
Eric fixed them later.
Grace stocked the snack drawer.
At first, Lily asked every time she took something.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
“Can Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Can Daddy?”
I smiled.
“Yes, Daddy can also eat crackers.”
She giggled.
That laugh healed something.
Therapy continued.
Mine too.
I told Dr. Lane I felt guilty for not seeing sooner.
She said, “Guilt can become attention. Let it.”
So I became attentive.
Not hovering.
Listening.
When Lily said she felt scared, I believed the feeling before explaining it.
When Mason said he wanted to leave a room, Eric let him.
The children began to trust ordinary choices.
What to eat.
Where to sit.
May you like
When to stop hugging.
Safety, I learned, is built from small permissions honored every day.
