She stiffened, eyeing him suspiciously.
“And I’m not bragging here, honestly. But I’ve built quite a successful business. Real estate development. Made some good investments along the way.”
“Good for you.” She kept her voice flat, unimpressed.
“I want to make things right.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “I’ve set up a trust fund. It’s substantial. Here is the paperwork.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. After all these years, he thought money could fix what he’d broken? Her hands clenched in her lap as anger bubbled up inside her.
“I don’t want your money.” The words came out sharp enough to cut. “I didn’t need it then, and I certainly don’t need it now.”
“The paperwork’s already done.” He held out the envelope. “Take it. Give it to Felicity if you want. Donate it to charity. I don’t care what you do with it—it’s yours to decide.”
“You think you can just throw money at this and make everything okay?” Her voice shook. “That you can buy your way out of more than forty years of absence?”
“No.” He set the envelope on the small table between them. “But I can try to leave something good behind. Something that might help make up for what I didn’t give before.”
Darlene stared at the envelope, her throat tight with emotion. All those years of struggling to make ends meet, of pinching pennies to give their son everything he needed—and now Dean wanted to sweep in with his money like some fairy godfather?
“Take it,” he said softly. “Please. Even if you never forgive me, take it.”
He shoved the envelope into her hands, and she stared down at it.
“And… one more thing.”
She looked back up at him as a strange expression crossed his features.
“Just so you know, the money is payable upon my death. And you’ll get the money soon. My doctors have given me only a few months to live.”
His words took her breath away as she stared at the haunted look in his eyes.
“So I know that I had to make one last try to… I don’t know. Make amends. Not that I think the money will do that. Nothing can change what I did. I had to come and say I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”
She tried to breathe as she studied Dean’s face more carefully. Now she noticed the pallor beneath his tan, the slight tremor in his hands, the way his jacket hung loose on his frame. The signs had been there, but she hadn’t wanted to see them.
“Cancer?” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
He nodded. “Same thing that took Janet. Guess there’s some justice in that.”
The bitterness she’d carried for so long shifted inside her chest, making room for something else—not quite forgiveness, but perhaps understanding. She thought of all the times she’d imagined confronting him, telling him exactly how much pain he’d caused. Now, faced with his mortality, those rehearsed speeches felt hollow.
“I don’t want you to die thinking I hate you,” she said softly. “I did, for a long time. But I learned to let that go. Had to, for my own sake.”
“You’re a better person than I ever was.” His smile was weak, but genuine. “I watched you build this place, raise our son, become someone amazing. I was too much of a coward to even say hello.”
Her fingers brushed against the envelope. Part of her wanted to throw it back at him, tell him to take his guilt money and go. But she saw the desperation in his eyes, his need to leave something behind that might help balance the scales.
She rose from her seat. “I expect you’re hungry after your trip. Come inside and I’ll get you something to eat. We’ll get you a room for the night. You look tired.”
Chapter23
Darlene watched from the kitchen window as Dean and Felicity sat on the porch, sharing stories over lemonade. His face lit up when she laughed, a shadow of the young man she’d once known peeking through his tired features.
Three days had passed since his arrival, and each evening he excused himself early, clearly drained from his illness. But during the daylight hours, he made every effort to engage with their granddaughter, asking about her teaching and her plans for California.
The familiar ache in her chest had softened. She’d spent so many years carrying the weight of his abandonment, but seeing him now—frail and seeking connection in his final days—she found her anger dissolving like sugar in hot tea.
“Gran?” Felicity stepped into the kitchen. “Dean’s taking a nap. He said the morning wiped him out.”
