Chapter 8 - Two Coffees ApartRenee and I repaired our relationship first. She started calling more — not to ask what Mom and Dad were doing, but what I was doing. One evening she brought takeout, no crisis attached, just dinner. Halfway through she said, "I think I understand Christmas now."
"What part?"
"I kept thinking the bungalow was separate. Like Dad did — I thought you took something practical away because something emotional happened. Now I think I had it backward. The house was emotional because you bought it out of love. We treated the love like it would stay permanent no matter what we did to the relationship."
"That's closer."
"I'm sorry I didn't text."
"I know."
"No." She shook her head. "I'm sorry I noticed you were missing and decided it was easier not to ask why."
That apology mattered. It named what she'd actually done — not my reaction, not the bungalow, not the months after. Her choice.
"Thank you."
A few weeks later I ran into Priya at the shelter, looking steadier. "I got a payroll job. I start Monday."
"That's great."
"I'm terrified."
"Also normal."
Zuri appeared with a school folder. "Still hate fractions?"
"Now we have decimals."
"Worse?"
"Much."
Three weeks after that, Priya called while I was leaving work. "We got a house."
"The program?"
"Yes." She was laughing and crying at once. "Zuri and I got the first placement."
I leaned against my car. "Which house?"
A pause. "Yours."
For several seconds I couldn't speak. The bungalow. The bay window. The pencil mark in the kitchen. A nine-year-old who hated fractions putting her backpack somewhere it would still be the next morning.
"I didn't know."
"I know. My case manager told me you weren't involved."
"Good."
"I want you to know something," Priya said. "I'm not asking you to carry us. The house is a bridge. I have a savings goal, a timeline, a case plan."
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"You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I know. That's why I wanted to say it anyway."
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