Margaret opened her arms.
Marcus embraced her tightly.
She held him for several seconds.
Then she gently pulled back and examined his face.
"Have you been sleeping properly?"
"Yes."
"Are you eating enough?"
"Yes, Grandma."
She touched his cheek.
"Are you happy?"
Marcus stopped smiling.
Richard looked away.
Vanessa folded her arms.
Margaret noticed the silence.
She looked at Richard.
"Come sit down. All of you."
They gathered in the living room.
Margaret placed her handbag beside the sofa.
"I want to talk about Angela."
Richard immediately frowned.
"Mom, please."
"No. I have avoided this conversation long enough."
She turned toward Marcus.
"Do you remember the letters your mother left for you?"
Marcus nodded.
"Yes."
"Have you been reading them?"
"Sometimes."
Margaret smiled sadly.
"She wrote many of them. Birthday letters, graduation letters, letters for difficult days. She wanted you to feel her love even when she couldn't be there."
Marcus nodded.
Margaret looked toward Richard.
"Do you remember what she asked us before she died?"
Richard's expression became distant.
"Yes."
"Tell me."
Richard did not answer.
Margaret spoke slowly.
"She asked us to make sure Marcus never felt alone. She asked you to be patient with him. She knew he would miss her, and she worried that he might struggle."
Richard looked down.
Margaret continued.
"She didn't ask you to buy him expensive things. She didn't ask you to send him to the best school. She asked you to love him."
Richard rubbed his forehead.
"I do love him."
"Then why doesn't he feel it?"
The question filled the room.
Marcus stared at his hands.
He wanted to leave.
He did not want everyone discussing him as though he were a problem that needed solving.
But Margaret reached for his hand.
"You can stay, sweetheart. Nobody is going to blame you."
Then she turned toward Vanessa.
"I also want to ask you something."
Vanessa lifted her chin.
"Of course."
"Why did you tell Marcus that his father would be happier if he stopped reminding him of Angela?"
Vanessa's expression changed.
Richard turned sharply.
"Is that true?"
Vanessa looked at Marcus.
"That's not exactly what I said."
Marcus became nervous.
Margaret squeezed his hand.
"Tell us what you said, Marcus."
The boy swallowed.
"She said Dad deserves to be happy. She said I keep bringing Mom into everything and that I need to stop making him feel guilty."
Richard looked at Vanessa.
"Did you say that?"
Vanessa sighed.
"I was trying to help him move forward."
Margaret shook her head.
"You don't help a grieving child by teaching him to feel ashamed of remembering his mother."
Vanessa stood.
"I have done everything for this family, and now I'm being treated like a villain."
Richard looked at her.
"Nobody is calling you a villain."
"Your mother is accusing me of hurting your son."
Margaret answered calmly.
"I'm asking you to understand what your words have done."
Vanessa turned toward Richard.
"Are you going to allow this?"
For the first time, Richard did not immediately defend her.
He looked at his son.
Marcus was sitting with his head lowered, his fingers trembling slightly.
Richard suddenly noticed how much his boy had changed.
He remembered the child who used to climb onto his lap and ask endless questions. He remembered the little hands that used to grab his fingers whenever they crossed a busy street.
When had that child stopped coming to him?
When had his son learned to be afraid of his own father?
Richard sat down.
"Marcus."
The boy looked up.
"Yes, Dad?"
Richard swallowed.
"Come here."
Marcus approached cautiously.
Richard looked at the teenager standing in front of him.
"I want you to tell me something."
"What?"
"Are you afraid of me?"
Marcus did not answer.
Richard's eyes filled with emotion.
"Please, son. Tell me the truth."
Marcus looked toward his grandmother.
Then he looked at his father.
"Sometimes."
Richard closed his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I never know when you're going to get angry."
Richard lowered his head.
Marcus continued.
"I try to do everything right. I really do. I study. I clean my room. I help Vanessa. I don't invite friends over because she doesn't like noise. I don't ask you for things because you're always busy."
His voice began to break.
"I just want you to be proud of me."
Richard looked up.
Marcus was crying now.
"And yesterday, when I spilled the food, I wasn't trying to ruin anything. I was just reaching for my glass."
Richard felt tears forming.
"I know."
"But you looked at me like I was the worst person in the world."
The room became completely silent.
Marcus wiped his cheeks.
"I'm sorry I'm not perfect, Dad."
Richard immediately stood.
"No, son."
He reached for Marcus, but the boy stepped backward instinctively.
That single movement hurt Richard more than any accusation could have.
He realized that his son was no longer certain that his arms were a safe place.
Richard slowly lowered his hands.