Sunlight filtered through the trees.

Owen was sketching plans for his future comic book room.

After a while, he looked up.

“Mom, we’re still keeping the house, right?”

“Of course we are.”

“Even if we sell the Superman comic?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

He smiled.

“Good. I really like it here.”

I looked at the old windows, the weathered porch railing, and the garden that Grandma had once cared for so lovingly.

I’d already planned the repairs.

The roof would come first.

Then the kitchen.

Finally, the porch where my grandmother and I had spent so many afternoons.

If everything went well, the sale of the rare comic could make those renovations much easier.

But the money hadn’t changed why the house mattered to me.

Declan has apologized several more times since then.

I believe he may finally understand why his behavior hurt me.

Still, I haven’t decided whether I’m ready to forgive him completely.