Chanel set the soup down. “Hiding it scares us more.”
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” I said.
Adele took my hand. “Loving us doesn’t mean protecting us from your life.”
Then I placed Walter’s letter on the coffee table.
“There’s more.”
They read it together.
Adele covered her mouth. Chanel gripped the couch. Jeremiah stared at the memo line.
“For Sylvie’s due,” he said. “He wrote that every month?”
“Yes.”
Jeremiah leaned back. “Maybe this was Dad’s way of apologizing.”
Chanel looked at him. “He could have just said it.”
Adele’s voice hardened. “And an apology shouldn’t need a hiding place.”
“No,” I said. “But guilt usually does.”
Then Jeremiah checked his phone. The senior golf club was honoring Walter the next night with a family award.
Chanel gave a sharp laugh.
Adele tapped the letter. “He doesn’t get to stand there and make himself the hero.”
I looked at Walter’s words again.
If I ever try to call it generosity, don’t let me.
So we went.
The banquet hall was full of white tablecloths, soft music, and people ready to praise Walter. When he saw us, his face went pale.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
