***
That evening, we sat around my kitchen table, minus Ethan, who’d gone home.
This time we talked.
Noah sat beside Lily, eating a bowl of ice cream.
“Let’s get out of here.”
At one point, Lily said quietly, “Dan must’ve stolen my sweater. He knew you shopped at that store cause I told him my life story.”
“So he was hoping I’d recognize it,” I said.
She nodded.
I reached across the table and took Lily’s hand. “I’m sorry. For not listening that night and for making you feel as if you couldn’t tell me the truth.”
Tears filled her eyes again.
“Dan must’ve stolen my sweater.”
Noah tugged my sleeve. “Ice cream…”
I laughed through my tears. “Of course.”
As I scooped another bowl, I looked around the table.
My daughter. My grandson.
Three years of silence had finally ended.
