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Chapter 13 - THE HOUSE OF OUR OWN

We eventually sold the mansion.

Claire didn't want it.

Neither did I.

Too many memories.

Too many secrets.

We built a smaller home.

One with wide windows.

A warm kitchen.

A long wooden dining table.

And no locked doors.

On Christmas Eve, our son asked:

“Why don't we have a giant house?”

Claire laughed.

“Because giant houses don't make families happy.”

He thought about that.

Then asked:

“What does?”

I answered:

“People.”

He smiled.

“Like Grandma?”

Claire looked at me.

I nodded.

“Like Grandma.”

My mother wasn't perfect.

Neither was I.

Neither was anyone.

But forgiveness didn't mean forgetting.

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It meant refusing to let the past control the future.

That was the lesson Claire had taught me.

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