Chapter 9: Small Adjustments
By the end of the first week the sharpest physical limitations had eased enough that I could manage more of the daytime care. Night lifts were still difficult. Fatigue still hit without warning. Nathan reduced his presence by degrees rather than disappearing—present for the hardest windows, gone for stretches of afternoon so the apartment could feel like mine again.
My mother sent a long message apologizing in detail and asking for a supervised visit. I offered a short window on Saturday afternoon, one hour, in the apartment, with clear conditions: no commentary about Nathan, no attempts to take Lily out of the building, no revisiting the engagement dinner as a misunderstanding. She agreed to the terms in writing. I did not trust the agreement completely, but I was willing to test it once.
Whitney asked if she could come separately. I said yes to coffee in the building lobby the following week—public, brief, and not about our parents’ defense.
Nathan listened to the plans without inserting an opinion until I asked.
“You want me here for the Saturday visit or gone?”
“Here,” I said. “Not in the room. Just here.”
“All right.”
The visit itself was stiff and careful. Mom held Lily for twenty minutes while Dad sat on the edge of the chair and avoided looking at the couch that still held a folded blanket from the night before. They did not mention the hospital lobby or the intercom. They asked about the cast and the stitches and whether I needed groceries. I answered the practical questions and let the emotional ones pass. When the hour ended, they left without argument.
After the door closed, Nathan came back in from the hallway.
“You good?”
May you like
“Good enough.”
Lily needed a change. He waited to see whether I wanted the help, then stepped in when my ribs protested the angle. The rest of the evening returned to the quiet sequence we had already built.
