“Only if you want to,” I replied gently, looking up at him. “It is your drawing, Toby.”
He studied the paper for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, let’s keep it in the drawer for now. Maybe I’ll give it to him someday, or maybe I won’t.”
I carefully folded the paper again and placed it inside the desk drawer. I didn’t keep it because of lingering bitterness toward Brandon, nor as a painful reminder of the marriage that had ended so disastrously over an airplane speaker.
I kept it because that simple piece of paper represented the pure heart of a seven year old boy who believed in love and family. It also represented the strength of a mother who rebuilt her life after everything had shattered. Our home was quieter now, but it was completely ours, free from hidden secrets, unexplained phone calls, and painful lies.
