I stared at him.
“You bought Dad’s house?”
He smiled gently.
“It’s our house now, if you want it.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“But why?”
“Because every time you talk about your father, you come back to that house. The kitchen. The swing. The birds he painted. I wanted you to have those memories somewhere you could actually visit again.”
I suddenly remembered all those weekends he’d spent renovating an investment property.
The unexplained trips.
The long hours.
The furniture catalogs I’d occasionally noticed in his office.
“That renovation project…”
He nodded.
“It was your old house.”
My hands began shaking.
Then I remembered the letter.
“Mom said you sent her a letter too. What did you write?”
Ethan hesitated.
Then he repeated the words.
**“You told me I would never give Olivia a home. But you never understood which home she truly wanted.”**
I covered my mouth.
