Exposed.
When her car disappeared, the entire street seemed to breathe again.
PART 3 — A HOUSE THAT REMEMBERED LOVE
My home was damaged.
The hallway walls were scraped. My dresser was broken. The bedroom smelled of perfume and nail polish. My white sheets were ruined.
But the house belonged to me again.
I opened every window, threw away the sheets, washed my favorite blue mug, and made coffee even though it was late at night.
Then I sat in my armchair.
Carol looked around and said, “You did it.”
“No,” I replied. “I started.”
Healing was slow.
Matthew called regularly. I did not always answer.
When I did, I asked whether he was working, staying safe, and attending counseling.
He never asked to come inside.
Months later, he finally knocked on my door holding blueberry muffins from the bakery George once loved.
I kept the screen door between us.
“Jessica moved in with her cousin,” he explained. “I’m going to be involved in the baby’s life legally and responsibly.”
“That is your duty.”
He nodded.
I eventually let him inside for coffee.
At the kitchen table, he placed both hands in front of him.
“I need to apologize without making you comfort me,” he said.
