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***
Across the frozen grass, in the home Owen and I built together, Diana stands at the kitchen sink. She holds one of Sadie's plastic dishes beneath the faucet and absentmindedly moves a soapy sponge across its surface.
The whole room aches with Diana's regret. I can't believe I didn't notice it before. I was so distracted by my conviction that she was trying to turn Owen against me that I couldn't see how hard she was working to provide stability for him and for Thomas.
I don't know how to approach her or what I can do to make any of this bearable for her. All I can think of is to stand right behind her and try to absorb some of the melancholy emanating from her body.
Almost immediately, Diana stops washing the dish and catches her breath. For a moment, she doesn't move. I focus on filling the room with the gratitude I feel, and she exhales slowly.
I know she will be able to understand what I want her to understand: her presence in our house has saved Thomas. She doesn't need to wallow in regret for treating me unkindly while I was alive. I'm deeply thankful for what she's doing, for what she will continue to do for the rest of her life. She is taking care of the people who needed me.
Now I understand the struggle she and Owen have been going through over what to do with Thomas's DNA test. All their tense conversations make sense. They've had the results since his birth; when I thought they were deciding whether to test his DNA, they were actually debating what to do with the information they had.
Diana's been trying to convince Owen to go to the police and formally accuse Eddie, but she has more faith in the justice system than Owen does. She wasn't in the room with Officer Bose. Owen can't bear the thought of what life would be like if Eddie demanded parental rights in order to avoid a rape conviction. What if they came forward with evidence that Eddie was Thomas's biological father, but failed to prove he'd raped me?
Something stirs on the other side of the fireplace. I leave Diana and move into the parlor to investigate the noise.
There, hunched forward in the red rocking chair with his forearms resting on his knees and his head lowered, is Owen.
He came back.
Owen clenches his eyes shut and furrows his brow. In his hands, he holds a small, roughly hewn cedar box. Its wooden surface is unfinished. His lips move around familiar words. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven..." His voice cracks around the word "Heaven."
He's trying to pray.
Curled up beside the fire, Daisy breathes a sleepy little sigh. I recognize it as the sound that brought me into this room just a moment before. I lean down to stroke her forehead.
