I looked around at the marble floors, elegant furnishings, and enormous windows.
Then I answered quietly.
“Who helped make it possible.”
His expression changed.
But I didn’t stay to explain.
I helped Eleanor into our car and drove away.
For several miles, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she looked down at the folded tablecloth in her lap.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it.”
I glanced at her.
“Eleanor, you spent three weeks making that gift with love. You did nothing wrong.”
Her voice trembled.
“Daniel didn’t even say anything.”
I felt a deep sadness.
Because she was right.
Our son had watched his mother being humiliated and decided that remaining silent was easier than defending her.
But Vanessa didn’t know something important.
The magnificent house she’d proudly called hers had been purchased with substantial financial help from me.
And that help had never been intended as a gift.
