Chapter 11: The First Birthday
Felix turned eight three months after we moved into the house permanently.
We kept the party small—just my parents, a couple of neighbors whose children Felix had become friends with, and a simple cake my mother baked with extra sprinkles because Felix had asked for them. No one from Russell’s side of the family was invited. We didn’t need them.
Felix blew out the candles with a big grin and looked up at me.
“I love our house, Mommy.”
I kissed the top of his head.
“I love it too, baby.”
That night, after everyone had gone home, I sat on the porch with my parents while Felix played with his new toys inside. The air was warm. The crickets were loud. My mother reached over and squeezed my hand.
“You did this,” she said. “Five years of work, and you brought us home.”
My father nodded, his eyes on the yard we had planted together.
“You never gave up on us.”
I looked at the house behind us—the house I had paid for with every overtime shift and every dollar I had sent home.
“I thought I was building something for all of us,” I said. “I just didn’t know the foundation was a lie.”
My mother smiled.
“The foundation was you. That’s what held.”
Felix ran out onto the porch with a new drawing and climbed into my lap. The picture showed four stick figures holding hands in front of a house with a bright yellow sun.
“That’s us,” he said.
May you like
I hugged him close.
“Yes, it is.”
