Chapter 13
Vivian asked to see Milo after three months.
I did not decide.
Milo did.
“No.”
Simple.
I told her.
Her face hardened.
“He is three.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t understand estrangement.”
“No.”
“Then you decide.”
“I did.”
She smiled faintly.
“Exactly.”
I shook my head.
“I decided not to force him.”
That distinction irritated her.
Two weeks later, Milo changed his mind.
Not because anyone pushed.
Because he found one of Vivian’s old pearl hair clips in a drawer and asked where Grandma was.
We arranged ten minutes in the garden.
Open.
Ellen nearby.
Me farther back.
Vivian arrived without jewelry except her wedding ring.
Interesting.
Milo stayed beside the bench.
She did not approach.
Good.
“Hello, Milo.”
He stared.
Then asked:
“No dog food?”
Vivian’s face changed.
Everything stripped down.
No politics.
No tradition.
No heir.
A child remembering what she did.
“No.”
She swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Milo frowned.
“For what?”
Useful question.
Vivian struggled.
Then:
“For making you eat under the table.”
Better.
“And?”
He waited.
She looked at me.
I did not help.
“For taking your dinner.”
“And?”
Three-year-olds can be relentless.
Vivian closed her eyes.
“For telling you your father did not want you.”
There.
That one broke her voice.
Milo thought.
Then:
“He does.”
Vivian nodded.
“Yes.”
No hug.
No forgiveness.
He ran to look at a beetle.
Meeting over.
Vivian sat alone on the bench after he left.
I joined her.
She whispered:
“You really think that was better than making him show respect?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was real.”
May you like
She looked at me.
For once, she did not have an answer.
