Then Mom whispered, “I’ve been unfair to him.”

“For five years.”

“I know.”

I took a breath.

“If you want to be part of our baby’s life, you need to respect my husband.”

“I understand.”

“And I need you to stop speaking about Dad as though losing that house made him a failure.”

Her voice broke.

“I’ll try.”

“Then begin by apologizing to Ethan. Not because he bought me a house. Because you were wrong to humiliate him.”

“I will.”

We ended the conversation.

There was no instant reconciliation.

No miraculous forgiveness.

Some hurts take time to heal.

The next morning, Ethan and I returned to my childhood home.

We stood together in the kitchen doorway, looking at the recreated height marks.

Ethan reached into a drawer and handed me a pencil.

“There’s room for another mark,” he said.

I smiled.

“For whom?”

He gently touched my stomach.