“I should have said something when Belle talked about the cottage.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“I should have stopped her from walking into your house.”
“Yes.”
“I should have helped with the bills.”
“Yes.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You’re really not going to make this easier for me, are you?”
“I already did.”
That time, Adrienne actually smiled only slightly. But it was the first genuine expression I had seen from him in weeks.
Then Belle called his name from inside the house.
The moment ended. Adrienne turned back toward the main house. I watched him go.
Over the next few days, moving boxes began appearing everywhere. Belle complained loudly while packing. I heard doors slam once. I saw her throw several bags into the garage with enough force to make me wonder what was inside them.
But I stayed out of it.
Their new apartment was across town. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a much smaller living area than the main house. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was theirs to pay for.
That was the difference.
On the 29th day, a moving truck arrived. I watched from my cottage window as Adrienne carried boxes toward the truck. Belle followed behind him.
Neither of them looked happy, but for the first time in years, they were handling their own responsibilities without waiting for me to solve them.
Around noon, Adrienne walked across the lawn. He knocked on my door.
This time, I opened it.
“I just wanted to say goodbye to the place,” he said.
“You can.”
He stood beside me on the porch and looked across the property.
“Do you remember when dad built that swing?”
I followed his eyes. The old oak tree still stood near the edge of the yard.
“I remember.”
“I fell off it.”
“You cried for 2 hours.”
“I was six.”
“You also demanded that your father remove the tree.”
Adrienne laughed. A real laugh.
For a few minutes, we stood there remembering the past. And strangely, I felt peaceful.
I wasn’t losing my son.
I was simply refusing to lose myself for him.
Before returning to the moving truck, Adrienne looked at me.
“I’m sorry about the note.”
I studied his face. He meant it.
“I believe you.”
“Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“I already have.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“But forgiveness doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
And perhaps for the first time, he truly did.
By sunset, the truck was full. Belle climbed into the passenger seat without looking toward my cottage.
Adrienne stood beside the truck for a final moment. Then he gave me a small wave.
I returned it.