“That doesn’t mean it won’t become a habit.”
I looked at her.
“He’s my father.”
“And this is our house.”
That stopped me.
Not because she was right.
Because the house was one more thing Dad had helped make possible.
Years earlier, after selling the last parcel of land he had inherited from his mother, he had paid most of the down payment.
Natalie knew that.
I did not argue about it then.
I carried the money back to Dad.
When I handed him the envelope, his fingers trembled around it.
“I’m sorry, son.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Usually, Dad hugged me before he left.
That afternoon, he didn’t.
It was such a small difference that I almost dismissed it.
But later, I would keep thinking about it.
