I remained silent.
“The water pressure barely works.”
Another pause.
“We argued over a $60 grocery bill yesterday.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I never realized how expensive ordinary life could be.”
I looked at my son with compassion. Not satisfaction, not anger, simply compassion.
“When someone else pays your bills,” I said gently, “it’s easy to mistake comfort for independence.”
He slowly nodded.
“You’re right.”
The admission surprised me.
He looked around the backyard.
“The garden looks beautiful.”
“I finally have time to enjoy it.”
He smiled faintly.
“I miss living here.”
I met his eyes.
“No.”
He frowned.
“You miss not paying for anything.”
The words weren’t cruel. They were simply true.
He lowered his head.
After a long silence, he whispered, “I guess I do.”
For the first time since this ordeal began, he wasn’t making excuses. He wasn’t blaming Olivia. He wasn’t asking me to fix his problems.
He was finally being honest.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have stood up for you that day.”
I believed he meant it.
“I know.”
“I didn’t realize how much we’d taken for granted.”
“You weren’t children anymore.”
“We acted like we were.”
Another silence settled between us. This one felt lighter, healthier.
Ryan looked toward the kitchen window where fresh curtains fluttered gently in the breeze.
“Olivia still thinks you overreacted.”
I nodded.
“That’s her decision.”
“She’s still angry.”
“I’m not.”
He looked surprised.
“You’re not?”
I smiled softly.
“No.”
“Haven’t you been angry this whole time?”
“I was disappointed.”
I picked up my glass.