PART 7
His eyes filled with tears.
I had seen Grant cry only once before.
At our wedding.
Now he wiped his cheek quickly.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
I looked at him.
“You already lost something.”
“What?”
“The woman who would have done anything just because you asked.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“And I don’t want her back.”
He sat quietly.
Then he said something I never expected.
“Neither do I.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“She was exhausted.”
I felt tears forming in my eyes.
“She deserved better than me.”
I looked away.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Grant stood.
“I need to go back to the hospital.”
I nodded.
“How is Diane?”
“Still critical.”
“I hope she recovers.”
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not coming.”
I frowned.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“If you’d come, you’d have taken over everything.”
I didn’t answer.
“You would have organized the doctors. You would have talked to the nurses. You would have found food for everyone. You would have slept in that chair.”
He gave a sad smile.
“And I would have let you.”
I looked at him.
“So thank you for forcing me to be the son this time.”
Then he left.
I closed the door.
And cried.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because for the first time, he finally understood.
Diane remained in the hospital for nearly a month.
I never visited.
Not because I wanted her to suffer.
Because I understood boundaries differently now.
I called once.
I spoke to Grant.
He told me she was improving.
“She’s awake,” he said.
“That’s wonderful.”
“She asked about you.”
I was surprised.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you were giving us space.”
There was a pause.
“She said she understood.”
I nodded.
“That’s good.”
A few days later, Diane called me herself.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
“Hello?”
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“This is Diane.”
“I know.”
Her voice was weak.
“I owe you an apology.”
I closed my eyes.
“For what?”
“For allowing my son to behave like that.”
I was quiet.
“You don’t have to apologize for him.”
“I know.”
She paused.
“But I knew.”
That surprised me.
“Knew what?”
“That he wasn’t there for your mother.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew?”
“I asked him several times.”
“And?”
“He always told me you preferred to handle it yourself.”
I stared at the wall.
That was not true.
Not even close.
“I believed him because it was easier.”
Her voice cracked.
“I was wrong.”
I swallowed.
“Diane…”
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“I just want you to know that I see it now.”
We spoke for another ten minutes.
When the call ended, I sat quietly for a long time.
My mother came into the room.
“Who was that?”
“Diane.”
“What did she want?”
“To apologize.”
My mother nodded.
“People sometimes understand the value of something only after they’re afraid of losing it.”
I looked at her.
“Do you think I should give Grant another chance?”
My mother didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she asked me a question.
“Do you want to?”
I thought carefully.
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You don’t have to make a decision just because someone is waiting for one.”
That sentence changed something in me.
For years, I had lived according to deadlines that weren’t mine.
Be a good wife.
Be a good daughter.
Be supportive.
Be patient.
Forgive.
Stay.
Understand.
Wait.
Now I realized I was allowed to say:
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