They arranged to meet the following morning.
Not that night.
Daniel wanted time to speak privately with Silas, and Denise agreed. Elena accepted without arguing.
Before ending the call, Daniel said, “There’s one thing I need you to understand.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t know what tomorrow will look like.”
“Neither do I.”
“But Silas will hear the truth from now on.”
Elena’s reply came softly.
“That is all I wanted.”
After the call, Daniel placed his phone on the table.
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then Silas asked, “What happens if I don’t like her?”
Daniel’s expression softened.
“You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
“She already loves you.”
“That’s not the same as liking someone.”
Evelyn gave a small laugh before tears filled her eyes.
“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”
Daniel crouched in front of his son.
“You don’t have to become a family in one day. Tomorrow is only a conversation.”
“Will you stay?”
“The whole time.”
“Will Grandma?”
Evelyn looked at Daniel.
He hesitated.
The old pattern appeared between them again—the silent negotiation, the unspoken fear, the temptation to decide for Silas.
Then Daniel caught himself.
He turned back to his son.
“Do you want her there?”
Silas thought carefully.
“Not in the room.”
Evelyn’s face fell, but she nodded.
“I understand.”
“You can wait outside,” Silas added. “So nobody disappears.”
Evelyn reached across the space between them and took his hand.
“I can do that.”
That evening, Daniel took Silas and Evelyn to his house.
It was a modest two-bedroom home with clean counters, mismatched furniture, and a row of toy cars lined precisely along the living-room windowsill. The order was almost the opposite of Evelyn’s crowded rooms, but Daniel moved through it with the same nervous energy his mother had shown while gathering letters.
He made sandwiches no one finished.
He checked the locks twice.
He folded a dish towel, unfolded it, and folded it again.
Silas sat at the kitchen counter watching him.
“Are you scared?”
Daniel set down the towel.
“Yes.”
“Of Mom?”
“Of getting something wrong.”
“You already got things wrong.”
Daniel looked at him.
Silas took a bite of his sandwich.
“So did Grandma. So did Mom.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“No.”
Silas swung his legs beneath the stool.
