“That’s not true,” she said firmly. “Your mom would want you to live. To laugh.”
“But Aunt Diana said—”
“I know what she said,” Marian interrupted softly. “And she’s wrong.”
The next morning, Marian requested a conversation.
All four adults sat in the living room: Marian, Richard, Diana—and Mrs. Parker lingering nearby, pretending to dust the same shelf.
“The children are confused,” Marian said calmly. “They’re being pulled in different directions.”
Diana folded her arms. “I’m protecting my sister’s memory.”
“And I’m protecting her children,” Marian replied. “Those two things should not be enemies.”
Richard looked between them. “Diana…”
“You’re letting a stranger manipulate them,” Diana snapped. “She’s making them forget.”
Marian stood. Her voice didn’t rise—but it filled the room.
“They’re not forgetting their mother. They’re surviving her absence.”
Silence.
Then Ethan spoke.
“I don’t forget Mom,” he said quietly. “I just don’t want to be sad all the time.”
Lily nodded, tears slipping down her face. “It hurts too much.”
Diana’s breath caught.
For the first time, she looked shaken.
Richard stood. “This ends now,” he said firmly. “Marian stays. And we do what’s best for the children.”
Diana stared at him. “You’re choosing her?”
“I’m choosing them.”
That night, Diana packed her bags.
Before leaving, she paused at the doorway to the playroom. Lily was coloring. Ethan was building something uneven and proud.
Diana’s voice softened. “I loved your mother very much.”
“So did we,” Lily said.
Diana nodded once. Then she left.
Weeks passed.
The house changed—not suddenly, but truly.
Richard began eating dinner with them. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes awkwardly. But he stayed.
One evening, as Marian prepared to leave the table, Richard spoke.
“Stay,” he said. “Please.”
They sat. The twins laughed over something small and unimportant.
Richard watched them, his eyes wet.
“I forgot how to be here,” he admitted.
Marian smiled gently. “You’re learning.”
Later, as Marian turned off the lights in the hallway, Richard stopped her.
“You didn’t just help them,” he said. “You brought this house back to life.”
Marian shook her head. “They did that themselves. I just opened a door.”
In the quiet that followed, the mansion no longer felt like it was holding its breath.
It was finally exhaling.
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