Chapter 8 - The Keys on the Counter
I collected our belongings from Colin’s house on a Saturday morning.
My father came with me.
So did Renee, who announced that her role was “boxes and facial expressions.”
I nearly smiled.
We had agreed on a time in writing. Colin had confirmed he would be there to identify his belongings and receive his spare key.
I wanted the visit to be ordinary.
A list.
A few boxes.
An ending with no audience.
The house looked as polished as ever.
I had once admired that about it.
Now I noticed how little evidence there was of anyone living imperfectly.
No books left open.
No school papers.
No shoes abandoned near the door.
Colin stood in the hallway wearing a sweater I had bought him.
“Can we speak alone?”
“No,” I said.
He looked at my father.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
My father’s expression did not change.
“We’re here to help carry things.”
That was all.
I handed Colin the inventory.
Kitchen equipment. Clothes. A framed print. June’s books and craft box. The small desk we had moved over because she had been excited to arrange her room before we officially moved in.
He glanced down the list.
“This feels excessive.”
“It helps us avoid confusion.”
Renee walked toward the sitting room with a box.
I went upstairs.
The room with the yellow curtains stood open.
For a moment, I thought Colin had changed his mind about using it as an office.
Then I saw the desk facing the window.
His monitor sat where June had planned to put a cushion.
Her books were stacked in the hallway.
A neat cardboard label rested on top.
PAIGE’S.
Not June’s.
It was such a small detail.
I stood looking at it longer than I meant to.
Colin came up behind me.
“I had to put things somewhere.”
“I can see that.”
“You never moved in.”
“She thought this would be her room.”
“We hadn’t finalized anything.”
“We chose the curtains with her.”
He exhaled.
“You’re determined to make every decision sinister.”
I turned toward him.
“No. I’m finally allowing decisions to mean what they mean.”
He looked tired.
For the first time, I wondered whether I was seeing regret.
Then he said, “I wanted a wife, Paige. I didn’t want to spend the first year competing.”
I held the empty box against my hip.
“With an eleven-year-old.”
“With a relationship where there was never room for anyone else.”
I thought about the weekends I had rearranged. The dates Ben had helped make possible. The family outings June had planned because she wanted Colin to enjoy them.
There had been room.
He had wanted the room to belong to him.
“You could have told me marriage to a parent wasn’t what you wanted.”
“I did want it. I just thought things would settle.”
“After she gave up enough?”
He looked away.
Then his voice softened.
“I know I handled it badly. We could start over. Keep separate homes for a while. Slow down.”
Six days earlier, that offer might have made me question myself.
Now I heard the missing piece.
He wanted a different structure.
He still had not said what he owed June.
“What would you tell her?” I asked.
“That things got confused.”
I nodded once.
That was my answer.
“Nothing was confused.”
I picked up the first stack of books.
Downstairs, my father loaded the car while Renee checked the inventory.
When everything was finished, I placed Colin’s key on the kitchen counter.
He looked at it.
“So that’s it.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”
“No.”
His eyes lifted.
“If you ever understand what you’re apologizing for, you can write it down. I’ll decide whether it would help her to read it.”
He said nothing.
I left the house without waiting for a better ending from him.
At home, June met us in the hallway.
“Did you get the blue notebook?”
I held it up.
She took it with visible relief.
Inside were drawings for the room she had imagined.
I expected her to close it quickly.
Instead, she turned to a blank page.
“Could we move my bed here?” she asked, pointing toward her own room.
“Probably.”
“And maybe put shelves under the window?”
“We can measure.”
That afternoon, we pushed furniture across the floor, discovered an impressive collection of missing hair ties, and ate lunch sitting on her mattress.
By evening, the room looked different.
Not better in any grand, magazine-worthy way.
It looked like a place she had chosen.
When I kissed her goodnight, she glanced around.
“I think I like our house.”
May you like
“So do I,” I said.
For the first time in weeks, I believed she meant more than the walls.
