The afternoon sun was beginning to slant through the kitchen window.

It threw long, golden boxes of light across the floor.

“We are going to be okay,” I said to my children.

“We really are.”

David wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked at Harold.

“I’m sorry,” David said to him.

“For how I’ve treated you.”

“I was just so tired.”

Harold walked over to the table and stood beside David’s chair.

He placed a hand on David’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologize, son,” Harold said.

“You did what you thought was right for your mother.”

“That is a heavy burden for a young man to carry alone.”

David nodded, his jaw relaxing for the first time in months.

The kitchen felt lighter now, as if a physical weight had been lifted from the ceiling.

“Well,” Rachel said, her voice shaking slightly but holding a smile.

“I think we need to make some fresh tea.”

“And maybe some of those biscuits we bought yesterday.”

“I’ll help you,” Harold said, stepping toward the counter.

I sat with David, holding his hand until the trembling stopped.