Richard reached for the box of tissues beside the bed and placed it within reach of my left hand.
No lectures. No disappointed sighs. No reminders of choices made years earlier.
Just a tissue box, moved closer.
That kindness hurt more than my ribs.
“What happened after you called him?” I asked when I could breathe again.
Richard’s expression changed slightly. Not anger exactly, but restraint.
“Your father said family obligations had to be respected.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped me. It sounded sharp and broken.
“Family obligations.”
“Yes,” Richard said. “That was his phrase.”
Aunt Evelyn shifted Noah carefully, his tiny mouth opening in a sleepy yawn.
“Your mother tried to take the phone from him after she realized everyone could hear,” she said. “But by then, the room had gone quiet.”
I pictured my parents’ dining room glowing with candlelight, Whitney sitting beneath the crystal chandelier, my mother’s best silver laid out beside folded linen napkins. I imagined all those polished faces turning toward my father as his voice filled the space.
