Chapter 19 - A Glimpse of the Future
Six months flew by faster than any year I could remember.
In the span of half a year, our lives had undergone a radical, beautiful transformation. My father had finalized his separation from Patrice, renting a small, cozy two-bedroom apartment near downtown Dayton where he took up woodworking—a hobby he had abandoned forty years ago because my mother deemed it "a waste of time." He spent every Tuesday afternoon helping Marlo with her algebra homework and listening to Teo ramble on about prehistoric eras.
Patrice, true to form, had tried every tactic in her playbook to regain control. She had attempted to enlist other relatives, threatened to write my father out of a nonexistent will, and even sent a certified letter demanding I apologize for "tearing the family apart."
I had taken the letter, dropped it straight into the shredder without opening it, and never looked back.
Marlo was thriving in eighth grade, serving as the captain of her middle school volleyball team and displaying the kind of fierce, protective intelligence that made me prouder with each passing day. And Teo had finally grown his two front teeth back, grinning wide and bright in every school picture with his plastic triceratops clutched proudly in his hand.
On a crisp Friday evening in late November, the three of us were decorating our living room for the upcoming holidays. Christmas music played softly from the speakers while Marlo strung popcorn garlands along the mantle.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I glanced down at the screen. It was an unfamiliar number with a local area code. For a second, I wondered if it was Patrice trying one last desperate angle.
I picked it up and swiped answer.
"Hello?"
"Karen?" A soft, hesitant voice came through the receiver. It wasn't my mother. It was Aunt Gail.
I froze, holding a glass ornament in my hand. "Gail? How did you get this number?"
"I... I asked your cousin Diane," Gail said, sounding remarkably subdued, stripped of her usual righteous indignation. She cleared her throat nervously. "I just wanted to call and see how you were doing. And... well, Patrice has been staying with Cousin Margaret in Columbus lately, and things have gotten pretty quiet around Dayton. I realized... I realized I shouldn't have listened to her version of everything without checking the facts."
I listened quietly, letting the words settle over me. There was no anger left in my chest—only a quiet, resolute boundary.
"Thank you for calling, Gail," I said evenly, my voice steady and kind. "We're doing great. Truly. I hope you're doing well too."
There was a long pause on the other line, as if Gail was trying to process that I wasn't angry, but simply moving on without needing her approval.
"I'm glad to hear that, Karen," Gail whispered softly. "Really, I am. Happy holidays to you and the kids."
"Happy holidays, Gail."
May you like
I hung up the phone, placed it back down on the coffee table, and turned back to the Christmas tree.
***
