Daniel watched quietly from the kitchen doorway.
After a while, he joined me at the table.
"I spoke to a family counselor."
I nodded.
"Good."
"She said Lily needs time, predictability, and adults who don't make her feel responsible for their relationships."
"That sounds right."
Daniel looked toward the living room.
"I also spoke with an attorney about what I need to consider if Vanessa and I separate."
I looked at him.
"Have you decided?"
He shook his head.
"I know we can't go back to how things were."
I waited.
He continued.
"I need to understand whether she can take responsibility for what she did. But right now, I can't trust her to manage Lily's care."
I nodded slowly.
He looked at his hands.
"And I don't know whether I can trust her in our marriage."
There was nothing useful I could say to make that decision easier.
I had never wanted Daniel to be alone.
When Claire died, I prayed that someday he would find someone who could bring happiness back into his life. I hadn't expected him to remain a widower forever, and I had genuinely hoped Vanessa would become a loving presence in Lily's world.
But the reality of her behavior couldn't be dismissed simply because her intentions might once have been good.
I reached across the table.
"Whatever happens, Daniel, Lily needs to know she won't be punished for telling the truth."
He nodded.
"That's what I'm trying to make clear."
I looked toward the living room.
My granddaughter was drawing something with a green pencil.
Her head was bent over the paper.
For the first time in a long time, she looked relaxed.
That evening, Lily asked whether she could sleep in Claire's old bedroom.
I had kept the room mostly unchanged since my daughter moved out years earlier.
The bed was smaller than the one Lily used at home, and the furniture was simple, but the room still contained a few of Claire's childhood treasures. There was a framed photograph of her graduating from high school, a wooden jewelry box, and a bookshelf filled with novels she had read so often that the spines were worn.
Lily stood in the doorway.
"Was this Mommy's room?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
She looked around.
"Did she sleep here?"
"Every night when she was growing up."
My granddaughter approached the bookshelf.