“I’ve been working on it every weekend. That’s the investment property I told you about.”
I remembered his early mornings, his dusty clothes, and the afternoons he had spent studying the old photographs.
The mysterious meetings with contractors.
The questions about curtain colors and the exact location of the kitchen window.
It had all been for the house.
For my house.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you bought it?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t know if I could restore it the way you remembered. I wanted to be sure I could give you something worth seeing before I brought you there.”
My eyes filled again.
“Ethan, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to prove anything to my mother.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“At first, maybe I wanted to prove her wrong. I won’t pretend I didn’t. But somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking about what your mother believed.”
