CHAPTER 3
Newport’s early days were peaceful in a way I initially found unfamiliar. Nora took me to a farmers market, where we lingered over tomatoes, fresh basil, and a small container of honey. Choosing ordinary groceries without coordinating somebody else’s schedule felt unexpectedly delightful.
One afternoon on her porch, I switched my phone on again. Messages and missed-call notifications flooded the screen, followed almost immediately by Theo’s call. “Mom, I went to the house,” he said. “There are strangers living there. What happened?”
“I sold it,” I said. “I’ve moved to Newport.”
He couldn’t believe I’d acted without consulting him. Then he made an admission that stopped me cold. “I always thought that house would belong to me someday.”
I reminded him that Sebastian and I had purchased it ourselves and had never committed it to anyone else. “I’m still alive, Theo,” I said. “I need to pay for my own care and plan for my future.”
Khloe took over the call. She described the property as a family asset and demanded to know why I wasn’t considering Theo’s future. I reminded her of the roof replacement, dance tuition, telephone charges, and years of other support. Then I asked why neither of them seemed concerned about what lay ahead for me.
When I described postponing physiotherapy and spending my medical savings, Theo sounded sincerely distressed. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to be another problem,” I admitted. “But you’ve spent this conversation asking about the house and the payments. You didn’t ask whether I got here safely.”
Neither responded immediately. Theo urged me to return and discuss the financial situation. I explained that I planned to remain in Newport and prioritize my treatment. I wasn’t rejecting my grandchildren or ceasing to love the family. I was allowing their parents to shoulder their own responsibilities. We could resume the discussion when everyone was prepared to speak respectfully.
In the weeks afterward, I attended my medical appointments consistently and rested whenever my body called for it. Nora suggested a watercolor course. My first attempt resembled a landscape being swallowed by a puddle, and I laughed more freely than I had in a very long time.
We went to exhibitions and reading groups. Many of the women I encountered had devoted decades to employment, teaching, or looking after loved ones. They too were discovering the possibility of enjoying their days without offering apologies. I continued to mourn Sebastian, but I stopped burying that grief beneath endless chores.
Pamela, Theo’s cousin, occasionally telephoned with updates from home. Without my daily assistance, mornings had become challenging. Theo now had to get the children to school before starting work, while Khloe rearranged extracurricular commitments and took responsibility for collections and meals. Arguments about household work and finances followed, and they began reviewing expenses I’d previously paid without discussion.
Their difficulties didn’t make me happy. Hugo and Cheyenne needed a stable, peaceful home. Gradually, however, Pamela reported constructive changes: Theo adjusted his working hours, Khloe reorganized the children’s activities, and the couple began sharing the domestic workload more fairly.
Once Pamela described finding Khloe sitting outside, overwhelmed by how difficult it was to organize a single afternoon. I remembered countless afternoons I’d managed for them without mentioning my own medical appointments. Still, I felt relieved that their struggle was producing real adjustments instead of another expectation that I’d return and solve everything.
Life remained demanding for them, but they were learning to cope. They needed that experience without my constant intervention. Over almost six months, I was learning something equally important: loving them didn’t require surrendering the peaceful routine that was allowing me to recover.
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