I reached across the table and held his hand.
“Yes, sweetheart. I can.”
Eventually, Marissa apologized too.
She admitted she’d treated my generosity as an entitlement.
She also agreed that Oliver could visit regularly.
The following Saturday, my grandson ran into my arms.
We spent the afternoon planting tomatoes and sunflowers.
That autumn, Daniel and Marissa finally purchased a modest home of their own.
The repayment checks continued.
One afternoon, Daniel returned to help me prepare the garden for winter.
We worked together beside the roses his father had planted years earlier.
As he prepared to leave, he removed an old brass key from his pocket.
The key to my house.
“I should have returned this a long time ago,” he said.
I accepted it.
He hugged me tightly.
Then he walked toward his own car and drove home to the house he now paid for himself.
I stood in the doorway, watching until he disappeared.
