I called the landlord the next morning.
I asked whether the apartment was still available.
It was.
I arranged another visit and brought a small notebook with me.
I wrote down the rent, the deposit, the utility costs, and the date the apartment could be ready.
The numbers were comfortable.
I could afford it without touching the larger investments Walt had left.
I did not need to ask Michael.
I did not need to ask Stephanie.
I did not need to explain it to anyone.
Still, I wanted Danny and Kayla to see the place before I signed anything.
They came with me that afternoon.
Kayla walked through the kitchen first.
She opened a cupboard and looked inside.
"There's enough room for your dishes."
"I don't have that many."
"You'll collect more."
Danny checked the windows.
He tested the locks and looked at the balcony railing.
He was careful about those things.
He had spent his life fixing what other people overlooked.
When he finished, he stood in the bedroom.
"Bed will fit here."
"Yes."
"And the dresser?"
"On that wall."
He nodded.
"Good."
Kayla smiled at me.
"I think you'll be happy here."
I looked at the trees outside.
I imagined a small table near the window.
A chair where I could read.
A shelf for Walt's photographs.
A kitchen where I could make tea without worrying that I was taking up someone else's space.
I signed the rental agreement the next day.
The landlord gave me a copy and two keys.
I held them in my hand for a long moment.
They were ordinary keys.
But they represented something I had not felt since Walt died.
A choice that belonged to me.
I did not announce it to the children immediately.
I wanted to make the decision first and let everyone adjust afterward.
I told Danny and Kayla that evening.
Danny gave me a hug.
"Congratulations, Mom."
Kayla kissed my cheek.
"We'll help you get settled."
The boys were excited.
They wanted to know whether they could visit.
I told them they could come whenever their parents brought them.
One of them asked whether I would have a television.
I said I would.
He asked whether I would have biscuits.
I told him I would try to keep some.
That seemed to settle the matter.
The next morning, Michael called.
I told him I had signed the lease.
He was silent for several seconds.
"So you're definitely moving?"
"Yes."
"I wish you had talked to me first."
"I wanted to make the decision myself."
He exhaled.
"I offered you a room."
"I remember."
"And I meant it."
"I believe you."
"Then why not stay with us?"
I looked at the photograph of Walt beside my bed.
"Because I want my own home."
Michael did not argue.
He asked when I planned to move.
I told him the apartment would be ready in a week.
"I can help," he said.
"Thank you."
"I mean it, Mom."
"I know."
He paused.
"Can we talk before then?"
"Of course."
We arranged to meet for lunch.
When we sat down together, Michael looked tired.
He had left work early.
He told me he had been thinking about the night I called him after Walt died.
"I keep remembering what I said."
I waited.
"I told you there wasn't room."
"Yes."
"There was room."
I looked at him.
He rubbed his forehead.
"The guest room was being used as an office, but we could have moved things. Jenna's mother wasn't staying permanently. I made it sound impossible because I didn't want to change our routine."
He looked down at his hands.
"I didn't think about what it meant for you."
I did not interrupt.
"I was worried about work, the children, the house, and everything we already had going on. I treated your problem like another thing to manage."
He swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
This apology sounded different from the first one.
It was not followed by an explanation.
It did not ask me to make him feel better.
I took a sip of water.
"Thank you for telling me."
He nodded.
"I know that doesn't fix it."
"No."
"I wish I could go back."
"So do I."
We sat quietly.
Then he asked about the apartment.
I told him about the balcony and the trees.
He smiled faintly.
"That sounds nice."
"It is."
"Will you let me bring some furniture?"
"I have what I need."
"I could get you a table."
"Michael, I don't need you to furnish my home."
He looked disappointed.
"I know. I just want to do something."
I considered that.
"Then come visit when I move in."
He smiled.
"I can do that."
We finished lunch.
Before leaving, he hugged me.
It was a little awkward.
Michael had never been a man who hugged for long.
But he held on a few seconds longer than usual.
I let him.
That afternoon, Stephanie came by Danny's apartment.
She brought a small box.
Inside was a framed photograph of Walt and me from our twenty-fifth anniversary.
I recognized it immediately.
It had been taken in the backyard of our old house.
Walt was wearing a tie he hated.
I was laughing because he had stepped on the hem of my dress.
Stephanie had kept a copy all these years.
"I thought you might want this in the new apartment," she said.
I touched the frame.
"Thank you."
She sat beside me.
"Michael told me you signed the lease."
"Yes."
"Are you happy?"
"I think I will be."
She nodded.
Then she looked at the photograph.
"I remember that day."
"You were helping your father with the cake."
"He kept telling me not to drop it."
"You nearly did."
She laughed.
For a while, we talked about the old house and the garden.
Then Stephanie grew serious.
"Mom, I know I wasn't there for you when you called."
I looked at her.
She twisted the edge of her sleeve.
"I keep thinking about what I said. I asked whether you had looked into charity housing."
Her voice became quieter.
"I was embarrassed when I remembered it."
I did not rescue her from the discomfort.
She needed to say it.
"I should have asked you to come to my house," she continued. "Even if it was inconvenient. Even if I had to move things around."
"Yes."
She nodded.
"I know."
I reached over and touched her hand.
"I am glad you're thinking about it now."
She looked at me.
"Does that mean you forgive me?"
"I love you, Stephanie."
She lowered her eyes.
"That isn't exactly an answer."
"No. It isn't."
She accepted that.
Then she asked whether she could help me pack.
I told her she could.
On moving day, Danny arrived with his work van.
Michael came in his car.
Stephanie brought boxes and packing tape.
Kayla had prepared sandwiches for everyone.
The boys carried small bags filled with toys and books.
We did not have much to move.
A few clothes, kitchen things, photographs, books, and the small objects I had collected over the years.
Walt's reading glasses went into a padded box.
His chipped mug went into a separate bag.
I wrapped the photograph of our twenty-fifth anniversary in a towel.
When we arrived at the new apartment, Danny carried the heaviest boxes.
Michael assembled the small table.
Stephanie placed the framed photograph on the shelf.
Kayla unpacked the dishes.
The boys argued over where the biscuits should go.
By late afternoon, the apartment looked like a home.
Not a perfect one.
The curtains were still folded on the chair.
The bedroom lamp needed a new bulb.
There were boxes beside the balcony door.
But it was mine.
I stood in the middle of the living room.
Danny came over.
"How does it feel?"
I looked around.
"Quiet."
He smiled.
"That's probably good."
I turned and hugged him.
"Thank you for giving me a place when I needed one."
He hugged me back.
"You don't have to thank me again."
"I want to."
He let me.
After everyone left, I made tea in Walt's chipped mug.
I sat beside the window and watched the evening light settle over the trees.
My phone rang.
It was Danny.
"Did you lock the balcony door?"
I looked toward it.
"Yes."
"Front door?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Just checking."
I smiled.
"Good night, Danny."
"Good night, Mom."
I placed the phone beside me.
The apartment was quiet.
For the first time since Walt died, the quiet did not feel like something I had been left with.
It felt like something I had chosen.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: Learning to Live in My Own Home
My Husband Left Me With One Secret, and I Never Imagined My Three Children Would Give Me Three Completely Different Answers
Part 16 of 20
