Chapter 7 – THE THINGS THAT STILL BELONGED

Marco lifted Daniel’s cardigan from Charlie’s arms.

He held it for a moment, rubbing the worn elbow between his fingers.

Then he carefully folded it and returned it to the boy.

“Your dad isn’t coming back,” he said.

Charlie looked down.

“I know.”

“But that doesn’t mean everything he loved has to disappear.”

Charlie nodded.

Marco crouched beside the cardboard box.

“Would you help me unpack this?”

The boy looked surprised.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Charlie hesitated.

“Victoria said we needed the shelves.”

Marco glanced at the nearly empty bookshelf.

“Then we can find shelves somewhere else.”

He took out the baseball glove.

Daniel had apparently been left-handed.

The leather was soft and worn, with a dark patch near the thumb.

Marco smiled.

“Your dad used this when we were kids.”

Charlie leaned closer.

“Really?”

“He caught a baseball with his face once.”

Charlie stared.

“How?”

“He forgot to put the glove up.”

A reluctant laugh escaped the boy.

Marco placed the glove on the desk.

“We’ll keep this.”

Next came a stack of books.

Then a chipped coffee mug.

Then a small tin containing loose buttons, paper clips, and two ticket stubs.

Charlie picked up the tickets.

“Those are from the Cubs game.”

Marco looked over.

“Which one?”

“When Dad spilled mustard on his jacket.”

Marco grinned.

“He blamed me for that.”

“You did it.”

“I may have contributed.”

Charlie smiled.

The atmosphere in the study changed.

For the first time since Victoria entered, the boy wasn’t watching every adult for signs of anger.

He was remembering his father without apologizing.

I helped move the books back onto their shelves.

Victoria stood near the desk.

She didn’t interfere.

When the box was empty, Marco turned toward her.

“We need to talk about what happens next.”

Charlie stiffened immediately.

Marco noticed.

“Not about you leaving.”

The boy relaxed slightly.

“About making this house feel like a home again.”

Victoria looked around the study.

“You can’t keep every room frozen forever.”

“No,” Marco agreed. “And I’m not going to.”

His eyes moved to the broken pencil holder.

“But Charlie gets a say in what changes.”

Victoria drew a careful breath.

“And what about me?”

Marco looked at her.

“What about you?”

“Do I get a say?”

The question was quieter than I’d expected.

Marco stood.

“Of course.”

“Because lately it feels as though I only belong here when I agree with you.”

He looked tired.

“This isn’t about disagreeing.”

“It feels that way.”

Victoria moved toward the window.

“I didn’t grow up in a house like this.”

Neither of us spoke.

“My mother married three times. Every new husband meant a new house, new rules, new people deciding what belonged where.”

She looked toward Charlie.

“I used to pack before anyone asked me to.”

Charlie listened.

Victoria gave a small, bitter smile.

“I thought when Marco and I got married, I’d finally have a place that was mine.”

Marco’s expression softened slightly.

“Victoria—”

“But I moved into a house that already belonged to someone who wasn’t here anymore.”

She glanced at Daniel’s chair.

“I couldn’t compete with a dead man.”

Charlie looked startled.

Marco answered carefully.

“You weren’t supposed to compete with Daniel.”

“I know that now.”

But she didn’t sound certain.

I understood something then.

Victoria had looked at Charlie and seen the part of Marco’s life she couldn’t control.

Every family dinner that revolved around Daniel.

Every room that held Daniel’s belongings.

Every holiday where grief sat beside them at the table.

She had mistaken their mourning for rejection.

And instead of asking for room, she had tried to empty the house.

Understanding that didn’t make it right.

Marco stepped toward her.

“You should’ve told me you felt that way.”

“I tried.”

“I wasn’t listening.”

“No,” Victoria said. “You weren’t.”

For a moment, the two of them looked less like a powerful man and his elegant fiancée, and more like two people who had lost their way inside a difficult relationship.

Then Charlie asked, “Is the baby going to sleep in Dad’s study?”

Victoria turned.

“No, sweetheart.”

“Then why did you say we needed the room?”

She hesitated.

“We were discussing possibilities.”

Charlie looked at Marco.

“You said I could stay.”

“You can.”

“And Dad’s stuff?”

“We’ll decide together.”

Charlie nodded.

He returned the baseball glove to the desk.

Then he reached into the pocket of his father’s cardigan.

A small, knitted yellow blanket fell onto the carpet.

I recognized it immediately.

I’d washed it two days earlier.

Victoria had told me it was a gift she hadn’t finished wrapping.

Charlie picked it up.

“She gave me this.”

Marco frowned.

“Why?”

Charlie rubbed the soft yarn between his fingers.

“She said when I went away, I should leave it on my bed for your new son.”

Marco looked at Victoria.

She had gone pale.

Charlie continued.

“She said the baby would need something warm when he came home.”

Marco reached for the blanket.

Victoria took an involuntary step backward.

“Marco, please.”

He looked at her.

“When is your first appointment?”

She didn’t answer.

“Victoria.”

Her eyes filled.

“I’ve already been.”

“When?”

She pressed a hand against her mouth.

Marco stepped closer.

“Tell me what’s happening.”

Victoria looked at the yellow blanket.

For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.

Then she whispered:

“There was a baby, Marco. That part wasn’t a lie.”

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