Stephanie arrived at Danny's apartment on a Wednesday afternoon.
She had called beforehand and asked whether I was available.
I told her I would be home.
She came alone.
That surprised me.
Usually, Stephanie arrived with one or both children, a bag of things she needed to drop off, or a list of errands she planned to complete before heading home.
This time, she carried only her handbag.
Kayla was in the bedroom folding laundry.
Danny was at work.
The boys were at school.
Stephanie sat at the kitchen table and looked around the apartment.
I wondered whether she remembered the day she had suggested a shelter.
I certainly did.
"Would you like coffee?" I asked.
"Please."
I made two cups and set them on the table.
Stephanie wrapped both hands around hers.
"I've been trying to figure out what to say."
"You don't have to make a speech."
She gave a small, nervous laugh.
"That might be a relief."
We sat quietly.
Then she looked at me.
"I was ashamed after Thanksgiving."
I nodded.
"I thought about how quickly I stopped crying when you said there was no money."
She looked down.
"I don't think I wanted to hear myself ask that question."
I stirred my coffee.
"Why did you ask it?"
She took a breath.
"Because I wanted to know whether I was going to have to help you financially."
"That was a reasonable concern to have."
She looked up, surprised.
"It was?"
"Of course. Money is complicated. You have a family of your own."
"But I didn't even offer you a place to stay."
"No."
"And I didn't ask what had happened."
"No."
She wiped her cheek.
"I think I was so worried about what you might need that I never considered what you were feeling."
I thought about that.
It was more honest than anything she had said during the original call.
"I was frightened," I told her. "Your father had just died. I believed I might lose the house. I was sitting at the table with his glasses in front of me, trying to work out what I would do next."
Stephanie closed her eyes.
"I wish I had known."
"You could have asked."
"I know."
We sat quietly.
Then she asked whether I had been angry with her ever since that day.
"Not every minute."
She gave a sad smile.
"That's something, I suppose."
"It is."
She reached into her handbag and took out a small photograph.
It showed Walt holding Stephanie as a toddler.
He was standing in our old kitchen, wearing a checked shirt and looking down at her with a smile I remembered well.
"I found this in a drawer," she said.
I took it carefully.
"I remember that day."
"You do?"
"You had just learned to walk. You kept trying to get to the refrigerator."
Stephanie laughed through her tears.
"Dad wouldn't let me."
"He was afraid you'd pull everything off the shelves."
She looked at the photograph.
"I miss him."
"So do I."
Her shoulders shook.
For a moment, she was no longer the adult who had suggested a shelter.
She was my little girl, missing her father and wishing she could go back to a time when problems could be fixed with a hug and a glass of milk.
I reached across the table.
She took my hand.
"I can't change what I did," she whispered.
"No."
"But I can do better."
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Will you let me try?"
I squeezed her fingers.
"I will."
She stayed for another hour.
We talked about the children, the house, and the arrangements Walt had made.
She didn't ask for more details about the estate.
She didn't ask what Danny had received.
She asked whether I wanted to come over for dinner the following Sunday.
I accepted.
When she left, I stood at the window and watched her walk toward her car.
I wasn't suddenly free of hurt.
But I felt something loosen inside me.
That evening, Danny came home carrying a paper bag of groceries.
He put it on the counter and looked at my face.
"Stephanie came by?"
"Yes."
"How did it go?"
"Better than I expected."
He smiled.
"Good."
I helped him put the groceries away.
He told me about a customer who had thanked him for staying late to finish a repair.
Then he asked whether I had heard from Michael.
I told him about lunch at the house.
Danny nodded.
"Sounds like they're trying."
"They are."
He closed the refrigerator.
"That's all you can ask for."
I looked at him.
"You're a wise young man."
He laughed.
"Don't tell anybody. It'll ruin my reputation."
The following Sunday, I went to Stephanie's house for dinner.
Her children ran to greet me.
She had prepared a meal that reminded me of the dinners I used to make when they were small.
The table was crowded with dishes.
Her husband asked about Danny and Kayla.
The children argued about who would sit beside me.
Nothing about the evening felt like a test.
At one point, Stephanie brought me a cup of tea.
She sat beside me while the others were in the living room.
"I want to ask you something," she said.
"All right."
"Do you think Dad was right to keep the money secret?"
I thought for a moment.
"I think he had good reasons. I also think keeping secrets can create problems of its own."
She nodded.
"Would you do it differently?"
"Yes."
She looked surprised.
"I would still want you to understand that money isn't the same as love. But I wouldn't wait until I was grieving to find out whether you understood."
Stephanie looked down.
"I wish you'd told us."
"So do I."
She glanced toward the living room.
"Do you think Michael is going to be all right?"
"I think he has some things to learn."
She smiled sadly.
"We all do."
I touched her arm.
"That's the truth."
On the drive home, I thought about Walt.
He had wanted to protect our family from the influence of money.
Instead, we had built a secret around it and waited for our children to prove themselves.
We had discovered something important.
But we had also hurt each other in the process.
I could not change that.
I could only choose what I did next.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Danny Finally Told Me What the Broken Couch Had Cost Him, and I Understood Why His Father Had Trusted Him With So Much
I Told My Three Children I Had Lost Everything, and Their Answers Revealed Something My Husband Had Warned Me About for Years
Part 10 of 20
