I closed my eyes.
Ethan stood nearby, allowing me to take everything in.
When I finally looked up, I asked, “You did all this for me?”
He nodded.
“Not to prove something to Mom?”
His expression softened.
“At first, I wanted to prove her wrong,” he admitted.
He crouched beside the swing.
“But somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking about her.”
He took my hand.
“I started thinking about you. About the things you lost. About the kind of memories I wanted our family to have.”
I squeezed his fingers.
We stayed beneath the oak tree until the afternoon sunlight began turning golden.
He told me about the renovation.
He’d hired specialists to reproduce the old paintwork and furniture.
But one thing he had built entirely by himself.
The swing.
He’d carefully measured the ropes and made the seat with his own hands.
“Your father probably would have noticed if I got the measurements wrong,” he joked.
