There was also a handwritten letter from her.
On the front, she had written:
“If our son ever forgets whose home this truly was, make him read this first.”
Daniel came to Claire’s house that same evening.
For the first time in my life, I saw my son standing at the door with no idea what to say.
He was holding my old pillow.
They hadn’t thrown it away.
Laura had opened it because she thought there might be money hidden inside.
Instead of money, they found Margaret’s letter.
Daniel placed the pillow beside me.
“Dad… I read what Mom wrote.”
I remained silent.
He sat down.
“She wrote that walls don’t make a house a family. People do. And that if I ever threw you out, then I would have already lost the house, even if I still lived in it.”
For the first time, I looked directly into my son’s eyes.
Daniel started to cry.
“Come home.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
After a few seconds, I rested my hand on the old pillow.
Then I said,
“I’ll come back. But we’re changing the locks again.”
He looked at me, confused.
