Chapter 3 - THE FIRST TIME HE CALLED HER MOMMY|
Eight months after Grace joined our household, Noah began calling her something nobody expected.
It happened during breakfast.
Grace was cutting strawberries into tiny pieces while Noah sat in his high chair.
"Mama."
She looked up.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
Noah pointed at her.
"Mama Grace."
The knife stopped moving.
I was standing near the kitchen entrance with a cup of coffee.
Grace looked at me, panic spreading across her face.
"I'm sorry. I've been correcting him."
I said nothing.
She gently wiped Noah's mouth.
"Sweetheart, my name is Grace."
"Mama Grace."
He reached for her.
She picked him up.
I watched her hold him, and something inside me tightened.
Claire had been gone for months, but I still felt guilty whenever another person made Noah happy.
Grace seemed to understand.
"Would you like me to teach him to say my name instead?"
I looked at my son.
"Does he know about Claire?"
Grace nodded.
"We look at her pictures every day."
"Then let him call you what he wants."
Her eyes filled.
"Luca..."
"Claire would never have wanted him to feel guilty for loving somebody."
That evening, I opened the storage room where Claire's belongings had been kept.
I hadn't entered it since the funeral.
There were photographs, wedding invitations, hospital paperwork, and a box of letters.
At the bottom sat a gray stuffed elephant.
Claire had bought it before Noah was born.
A folded note was attached to its ribbon.
I recognized her handwriting immediately.
For our little boy, when the world feels too big.
I sat on the floor.
Then I found another note.
Luca, if you're reading this, perhaps I wasn't lucky enough to watch our son grow up. I need you to promise me something.
My hands began shaking.
Never let your grief become the walls around his childhood. Let people love him. Let him love them back. If another woman ever gives our boy a reason to feel safe, don't punish either of them because I had to leave first.
I couldn't breathe.
I read the note again.
Then I cried.
The following morning, I asked Grace to have breakfast with me.
She looked surprised.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
I placed Claire's note on the table.
Grace read it silently.
When she finished, tears rolled down her cheeks.
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was."
I hesitated.
"Thank you for loving my son."
Grace looked down.
"He's easy to love."
"That doesn't mean everybody does it."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she asked a question I wasn't prepared for.
"Do you think you'll ever be able to love somebody again?"
I looked at her.
The honest answer frightened me.
"I don't know."
She nodded.
"That's all right."
But something changed between us that morning.
It wasn't a confession.
It wasn't even a promise.
It was the first time I imagined that the future might contain something other than memories.
Unfortunately, someone else had already noticed.
My mother, Margaret, stood outside the dining room.
She had heard every word.
May you like
And that afternoon, she made a phone call.
"Vanessa," she said quietly. "I think it's time we discussed the arrangement."
