Chapter 26 - MY FINAL WINDOW
At sixty-nine, I moved into a smaller apartment near Ava.
Not with her.
Near her.
She offered to manage the move.
I said:
“Help, not manage.”
She saluted.
“Understood.”
The apartment had large windows.
I chose it.
On the first night, I opened one.
Cold air moved across the room.
For a second I saw Beatrice’s hands around a newborn blanket.
Then Ava walked in carrying takeout.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Want it closed?”
“No.”
She set dinner down.
We ate noodles beside the window.
No ritual.
No speech.
Cold air became cold air.
After dinner, Ava said:
“Mom, can I ask something?”
“Yes.”
“If Adrian hadn’t been there, what would you have done?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always have answers now.”
“I had none then.”
“Would the nurses have gotten through?”
“Probably.”
“Would Grandma have stepped back?”
“Maybe.”
“Would Dad have stopped her?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
Uncertainty no longer felt like failure.
We did not need alternate timelines to validate what happened.
Then she asked:
“Do you still have the bruise photo?”
“No.”
“Good.”
We looked out at the city.
No hospital.
No Vance.
May you like
No Mercer.
Just lights.
