Chapter 14 - Diane Loses the Right to Control the Story
Thanksgiving arrived two months after the DNA report.
For the first time in Ethan’s life, his parents were not hosting.
Claire and Ethan invited Susan.
Two close friends came.
Olivia sat in a high chair smashing mashed sweet potato between her fingers.
Harold and Diane were not invited.
Diane called that morning.
Ethan nearly ignored it.
Claire said, “Answer.”
He put the call on speaker.
Diane sounded restrained.
“I wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving.”
“Thank you.”
A pause.
“Is Olivia wearing the little turkey sweater?”
Ethan glanced toward his daughter.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Diane did not ask to come over.
That mattered.
Then she said, “I told Carol the truth.”
Carol was Harold’s sister.
Ethan leaned against the counter.
“How much?”
“That Michael may have been your biological father. That Harold knew. And that I was the one who started the DNA testing.”
Ethan was surprised.
“What did she say?”
“She hung up.”
Diane gave a small, painful laugh.
“I suppose I earned that.”
For once she did not demand reassurance.
Before ending the call, she asked, “May I send Olivia a Christmas gift?”
Ethan looked toward Claire.
Claire considered it.
“One gift.”
Diane whispered, “Okay.”
After the call, Claire opened Rebecca’s sealed Christmas card.
Ethan sat beside her.
Inside was no dramatic confession.
Harold had written only a few sentences.
He said he thought about Rebecca and the baby often.
He said he hoped they were safe.
Then:
I know I gave up the right to ask for anything. I just hope someday I become brave enough to live with what I chose.
Claire read it twice.
Harold had known exactly what kind of man he had been.
The tragedy was that recognizing cowardice had not made him courageous.
Not then.
Not when Claire was twenty-one.
Not when Ethan brought her home.
Not even at their wedding.
Claire folded the card.
“What are you going to do?” Ethan asked.
She looked at Olivia laughing in the high chair.
“Something different.”
That evening Claire sent Harold a message.
Coffee. Saturday. Thirty minutes. Just you and me.
His reply came three minutes later.
Thank you.
Claire placed her phone face down.
It was not forgiveness.
It was not reconciliation.
But it was her decision.
Not Harold’s.
Not Diane’s.
May you like
Not Rebecca’s.
Hers.
