Three weeks passed after Margaret's lunch visit.
Life had become quieter.
I worked my usual shifts.
Danny went to school.
We settled into the apartment.
I had started enjoying little things I had never thought much about before.
Making breakfast without moving everything around.
Putting groceries away without stacking bags on the floor.
Coming home after a difficult shift and sitting down without having to clear a space first.
Danny was especially happy.
He had started inviting imaginary guests into his bedroom.
His dinosaurs had names.
Some were teachers.
Some were students.
One particularly large dinosaur was apparently the principal.
I listened to his explanations while preparing dinner.
Sometimes I laughed so hard I had to stop cooking.
Those were the moments I wanted to remember.
Then my father called.
He asked whether we could have dinner together.
I knew what he meant.
He wanted everyone at the same table again.
I asked who would be there.
He mentioned Linda, Emma, Margaret, and us.
I remained quiet.
He said it would be good for the family.
I asked whether he wanted to discuss something specific.
He said he simply wanted everyone to move forward.
I looked at Danny.
He was sitting on the living room floor, arranging his dinosaurs.
I thought about Christmas.
I thought about the apartment keys.
I thought about those letters written in my name.
I didn't want another dinner where everybody behaved politely while avoiding the truth.
"I'll think about it."
My father sounded relieved.
He said he hoped I would come.
After we ended the call, I contacted Margaret.
I asked whether she had spoken to him.
She said he had called her too.
He wanted the same thing.
A family dinner.
I asked what she thought.
She answered carefully.
"Only go if you want to, Lydia. Don't go because somebody says it's time."
I appreciated that.
For years, I had treated family gatherings as obligations.
I attended because I was expected to.
I smiled because everyone else was smiling.
I avoided uncomfortable subjects because I didn't want to ruin the evening.
But I didn't want to do that anymore.
The following morning, I sent my father a message.
I said I would come, but I wanted to be clear about something.
I wasn't going to discuss giving Emma the apartment.
I wasn't going to pretend the false letters didn't exist.
And I wasn't going to accept being blamed for what happened.
He replied that he understood.
I wasn't sure he did.
Still, I agreed to attend.
The dinner was scheduled for the following Sunday.
On Saturday, Danny asked whether we were visiting Grandpa.
I told him we were.
He asked whether Aunt Margaret would be there.
I said yes.
Then he asked whether he needed to bring his dinosaur book.
I smiled.
"If you want to."
He chose his favorite one.
On Sunday afternoon, I dressed Danny and got myself ready.
I wore a simple blouse.
I didn't want to look as though I was attending a special occasion.
I wanted to feel comfortable.
Before leaving, I checked the documents in my handbag.
I wasn't planning to bring them out.
But I wanted to know they were available if the conversation required them.
The little silver keychain was attached to my purse.
I noticed it while checking the zipper.
I touched the heart.
Then I locked the apartment.
At my father's house, Linda opened the door.
She looked surprised to see me.
Then she smiled.
"Hello, Lydia."
"Hello."
She greeted Danny.
He ran toward the living room.
My father came out to meet us.
He hugged Danny.
Then he looked at me.
"I'm glad you came."
I nodded.
Margaret was already there.
She sat near the window.
She smiled when she saw me.
Emma was in the dining room.
She looked up briefly.
Then she returned to arranging something on the table.
Everything appeared normal.
The same dining room.
The same polished furniture.
The same carefully arranged plates.
But I felt different sitting there.
I no longer wondered whether I belonged.
I knew I did.
Dinner began quietly.
My father asked about work.
I told him the hospital had been busy.
Linda asked whether Danny was enjoying school.
I said he was.
Emma barely spoke.
Margaret asked about the apartment.
I told her Danny had almost filled his bookshelf.
She laughed.
Then my father placed his fork down.
He said he wanted to say something.
Everyone became quiet.
He looked at me.
"I know I made a mistake."
I didn't interrupt.
He continued.
"I should never have allowed the apartment keys to be given to Emma."
I nodded.
He looked uncomfortable.
Then he said he hoped we could rebuild our relationship.
I listened.
I wanted to believe him.
But I had learned that words were only the beginning.
I looked at him.
"Do you understand why what happened hurt me?"
He nodded.
I waited.
He said he had failed to consider my feelings.
I asked whether he understood that I had been living in a small rental with Danny while Emma occupied a home intended for us.
He looked down.
"Yes."
I asked whether he understood that somebody had sent Margaret letters pretending to be me.
He nodded again.
Nobody spoke.
For once, I didn't feel responsible for filling the silence.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: When Margaret Placed the Old Letters Beside the Dinner Plates, Nobody Could Keep Calling What Happened a Simple Family Misunderstanding
I Had Spent My Whole Life Being Called Independent, Until One Small Thank-You Made Everyone at Christmas Dinner Stop Talking
Part 17 of 20
