The first thing I noticed was the space.
Not expensive furniture.
Not decorations.
Just space.
The living room was larger than the entire living area of our rental.
There was a wide window overlooking the street.
The walls were freshly painted.
The floor was clean.
A small dining area sat beside the kitchen.
I walked forward slowly.
Danny followed me.
His shoes made little sounds against the floor.
"Mom, it's big."
I laughed.
It came out strangely.
"Yes, sweetheart."
Margaret closed the door behind us.
She gave me time to look around.
The kitchen had proper cabinets.
There was enough counter space to prepare food without moving everything around.
The refrigerator was already there.
I opened one cabinet.
Empty.
Then another.
Also empty.
I didn't mind.
For once, empty cupboards didn't represent something we couldn't afford.
They represented a beginning.
I walked toward the first bedroom.
It was spacious.
There was a large window and enough room for a bed, a dresser, and a desk.
Danny stood in the doorway.
"Whose room is this?"
I looked at him.
"Yours, if you want it."
He turned toward me.
"Mine?"
"Yes."
He walked inside.
He looked at the window.
Then at the empty wall.
Then at the floor.
He seemed to be measuring the space with his eyes.
"Can I put my dinosaurs here?"
I smiled.
"All of them."
He looked pleased.
I had to turn away for a moment.
The second bedroom was just as comfortable.
Margaret explained that she had chosen the layout carefully.
She knew I was raising Danny alone.
She wanted us to have enough room to live comfortably.
There was also a small balcony.
I stepped outside.
The air was cold, but I didn't care.
I looked down at the street.
People were walking below.
Cars passed.
Somebody was carrying shopping bags.
Ordinary life.
I stood there thinking about all the nights I had come home from the hospital and quietly moved Danny's things so I could prepare dinner.
I thought about the curtain.
The little bed.
The shoebox of crayons.
I had convinced myself that we were doing fine.
And we were surviving.
But surviving wasn't the same as having room to live.
Margaret came to stand beside me.
"Do you like it?"
I looked at her.
I couldn't find a proper answer.
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
I wiped my cheek.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked confused.
"About the apartment?"
I nodded.
"I wanted to surprise you."
I looked down at the keys.
"You certainly did."
She gave a small laugh.
Then her expression became serious.
"I expected your father to handle the delivery. I believed he would give you the keys and explain everything."
I swallowed.
"Instead, Emma got them."
Margaret nodded.
"I know."
We went back inside.
Danny was already exploring the second bedroom.
He had found a small built-in closet.
He opened and closed the doors several times.
Then he came running toward me.
"Mom, I can keep my clothes here!"
I knelt in front of him.
"Yes, you can."
"All my clothes?"
"All of them."
He hugged me.
I held him tightly.
I didn't want him to see me crying.
But children notice more than we think.
He touched my face.
"Are you happy?"
I smiled.
"Very happy."
He nodded as if that settled everything.
Margaret walked into the kitchen.
She placed her purse on the counter.
"I should tell you something else."
I stood up.
"What?"
She explained that she had kept copies of the purchase records and the ownership documents.
She had also retained the correspondence connected to the apartment.
She had not wanted there to be any confusion about the gift.
I remembered what she had said at dinner.
The letters.
The ones supposedly written by me.
I felt uncomfortable again.
"Who sent those letters?"
Margaret shook her head.
"I don't know exactly who prepared them. But they were delivered to me while I was away."
"What did they say?"
"That you were grateful. That you appreciated the apartment. That everything had been arranged."
I stared at her.
"I never knew."
"I believe you."
I looked around the kitchen.
The room suddenly felt different.
This wasn't only about Emma living in the apartment.
Someone had gone further.
Someone had wanted Margaret to believe I had received the gift.
They had created a version of events in which I was already satisfied.
And they had expected that version to remain unchallenged.
I looked at the little keys.
"Do you have those letters?"
"Yes. I kept them."
I nodded.
I wanted to see them.
Not because I doubted Margaret.
Because I needed to understand what had happened while I was busy raising my son and working my shifts.
Margaret touched my shoulder.
"We'll deal with that carefully."
I took a breath.
Then I looked at Danny.
He was standing in the doorway of his new room, holding his dinosaur book.
For the moment, I wanted to remember something else.
He had a bedroom.
A real bedroom.
And nobody could tell him it was only temporary.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Father Finally Called, but the First Thing He Wanted Was Not to Know Whether Danny and I Were Happy
I Had Spent My Whole Life Being Called Independent, Until One Small Thank-You Made Everyone at Christmas Dinner Stop Talking
Part 6 of 20
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