“I know.”
Then he looked at me. “She was lonely, Mom.”
Mrs. Whitmore covered her mouth and cried.
“She was lonely, Mom.”
I sat beside her bed. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
“You don’t have to decide today,” she whispered.
So I took her hand, not because everything was fixed.
It wasn’t.
Mrs. Whitmore’s fingers trembled in mine. I looked at her and said, “What happened last night?”
She swallowed. “The doctor said it was a panic attack, and the strain afterward made everything worse.” She gave a tired, embarrassed smile. “I remember waking up, looking out the window, and seeing that fence.”
“What happened last night?”
Ethan stepped closer. “The fence?”
She nodded. “Your fence. Your work. I went outside like a foolish old woman because I wanted to see it up close. And when I did…” Her voice shook. “All I could think was that Jeremiah should have lived long enough to see the kind of son he had, and the kind of woman you became, Devon.”
I looked away before my face gave me up.
Ethan cleared his throat. “You scared us.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“You scared us.”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m not promising a clean slate today.”
She started to pull her hand back, but I held on.
“I’m not done,” I said. “I’m doing this because my son deserves whatever honest family he has left. When they discharge you, you can come home with us. After that, we’ll take it one day at a time.”
Her mouth parted. “Devon…”
“One day at a time,” I said.
I let out a slow breath.
When we got home, the fence was waiting for us, straight and clean against the pale afternoon sky.
