His eyes flicked back to mine.
“Is that all?”
“What else do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“At least you said that honestly.”
A small, tired smile crossed his face.
“I am sorry, Claire.”
The words arrived years late.
They did not heal the scar.
But they stopped poking it.
“Thank you,” I said.
Not I forgive you.
Not It’s okay.
Thank you.
That was enough.
When I walked back to Eli and Lily, she looked between us.
“You guys didn’t fight.”
“No.”
“Growth,” she said solemnly.
Eli laughed.
Ryan heard and, to his credit, did not ask what was funny.
The clearest ending came when Lily turned sixteen.
She had Ryan’s focus, my stubbornness, Daniel’s sarcasm, Eli’s quiet steadiness, and absolutely no respect for people who used work as an excuse to be unkind.
For her birthday, she asked for one thing.
Not a car.
Not a party.
“A birth day dinner,” she said.
“A birthday dinner?” I asked.
“No. Birth day. Like, tell the story properly. Everyone who was there.”
My fork paused.
We were at the kitchen table. Eli was reading the mail. Daniel was eating cereal directly from the box despite being forty-two years old and allegedly civilized.
“Everyone?” I asked.
“Not everyone everyone. Dana, Maribel, Uncle Daniel, Eli. Maybe Priya if she won’t bill us.”
Daniel said, “Priya would bill Ryan spiritually.”
Lily grinned.
“And Ryan?” I asked carefully.
She leaned back.
