“One knock, Richard.”
My voice cracked.
“You would’ve met my brother.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
“Instead, we lost 22 years.”
His shoulders slumped.
“I know.”
There it was.
No excuses, no attempt to justify it. Only regret.
Somehow, that made it harder to stay angry.
Jordan finally looked at his father.
“Is that why you kept the bear?”
Richard smiled sadly.
“It reminded me there was once somebody who loved me before life became complicated.”
He looked at me.
“I couldn’t throw away the happiest version of myself.”
The words settled over the room.
Stormy quietly wiped away a tear.
Then she surprised all of us.
She looked at Jordan.
“I think we should give them a minute.”
Jordan nodded immediately.
Neither of them teased us.
Neither of them asked another question.
They simply slipped out onto the back porch, closing the sliding door behind them.
For the first time in decades, Richard and I were alone.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It was simply full.
Richard looked around my kitchen with a faint smile.
“This is exactly how I imagined you’d decorate.”
I laughed softly.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet. From one of the hidden sleeves, he carefully removed a photograph.
The edges had softened from years of being handled.
He held it out.
“I think this belongs to both of us.”
I took it carefully.
It was a photograph from our junior year.
We were sitting on the steps outside the Boston Public Library, sharing a pretzel because neither of us could afford lunch.
Someone had caught us laughing at something neither of us could remember now.
On the back, in my own handwriting, I’d written, “Someday we’ll tell our kids how broke we were.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I even realized I was crying.
