“Why?”
“Because nine years of contributing to something deserves a record.”
“Even if you never thought you would use it?”
“Especially then.”
He gave me a small, tired smile.
“That is very like you.”
“I know.”
“I mean it as a compliment.”
“I know.”
He handed me the final plate, and I dried it.
Outside the kitchen window, the backyard was dark. I could not see the garden, but I knew it was there.
In the morning, Mom would sit at the window.
I would go outside.
She would watch.
And the house would still be ours.
All of it.
That was the truth Gabriel had needed to understand.
And, finally, it was enough.
