And because it was good.
I looked toward the trees.
Had I?
Not completely.
I had still measured Grant partly by whether he wanted the company.
Whether he listened to my advice.
Whether he carried forward what Russell and I built.
“I’m working on it.”
Paige nodded.
Then:
“So am I.”
We kept walking.
No hug that day.
Didn’t need one.
At ten weeks, Grant and Paige invited me and Diane to dinner.
Their house.
Small.
No occasion.
I almost declined because I suspected symbolism.
Then I decided ordinary dinner was exactly what all of us needed.
Diane arrived before me.
Paige opened the door.
She did not touch me without asking.
Good.
Grant was in the kitchen.
He kissed my cheek.
The unbruised side.
I noticed.
So did he.
His face tightened.
I said:
“Don’t.”
He nodded.
Dinner was simple.
Roast chicken.
Green beans.
Potatoes.
Diane brought pie.
No spa.
No corporate documents.
No shareholders.
For twenty minutes, we almost managed to be normal.
Then Grant said:
“Mom.”
I narrowed my eyes.
He laughed.
“Nothing financial.”
“That is reassuring.”
“I wanted to tell you I changed my phone passcode.”
Paige groaned.
“Grant.”
Diane started laughing.
I stared.
“Why am I receiving this update?”
“Because apparently unattended phones are a governance risk.”
I burst out laughing.
Paige covered her face.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“I did.”
The laughter softened something.
Not the assault.
Not the deceit.
But the fear that every shared room would always revolve around them.
After dinner, Diane and I sat while Grant and Paige cleared dishes.
I started to stand.
Grant pointed.
“Sit.”
My body tensed for half a second.
Not because of danger.
Memory.
Paige saw it.
Her face changed.
Grant realized too.
“Sorry.”
I took a breath.
Then sat.
“No.”
“It’s fine.”
He nodded.
We stayed with the discomfort instead of running from it.
That felt important.
At the end of the night, Paige walked me to the door.
