Chapter 9 - Restitution and Regret
The drive to Oak Park was quiet. The winter sun broke through the gray Chicago clouds, casting long shadows across the snow-covered avenues.
When Jared pulled into the driveway of the old two-story brick colonial, my chest tightened. The house Diane and I had spent our lives building stood before me. Lauren’s brother had let the garden overgrow, and the front porch needed fresh paint, but the bones of our home were still standing tall.
The front door was padlocked with a court-ordered receiver notice, but David had provided Jared with the emergency access keys as the rightful heirs of the estate.
Jared opened the heavy oak door. The familiar smell of cedar wood and old books hit me instantly. For the first time in three years, I felt like I could take a full breath of air without feeling the icy dread of poverty pressing against my lungs.
Jared dropped my bag by the stairs, walked into the kitchen, and turned on the tap. Clear, hot water steamed from the faucet. The central heating hummed softly beneath the floorboards.
“I’m hiring a full renovation crew starting Monday,” Jared said, leaning against the counter. “We’re replacing the porch, restoring Mom’s sunroom, and redoing the kitchen exactly how she drew it in her old sketchbooks.”
He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and swollen.
“Dad... can you ever forgive me?”
I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder. “Forgive you for what, son? For trusting the woman you promised to spend your life with?”
“I should have checked,” he whispered, his head hanging low. “I should have visited more. I should have seen how thin you were getting. I let her poison my mind.”
“You’re here now,” I said softly. “You asked the right question. You looked at the paper. A fool ignores the truth when it’s presented to him, Jared. You didn't run away. You stood up and fixed it.”
May you like
He smiled, a sad, exhausted smile, but the darkness that had clouded his face for months was finally beginning to lift.
***
