“He wanted to carry his own bag. Your grandfather picked it up without asking.”
I looked at her.
“You remember that?”
“Yes.”
Theo leaned closer.
“Did you give it back?”
“Your grandfather did.”
The boy nodded.
He understood the importance immediately.
We moved through the album.
A birthday.
A picnic.
My first school concert.
There were gaps.
Not because anything had been removed.
Because life before joining a family did not always arrive with a complete photographic record.
Theo asked about a missing year.
I answered honestly.
“I don’t have pictures from then.”
“Does Grandma wish she did?”
Vivian nodded.
“But I’m glad for the things Roman wants to tell me.”
Theo looked at his own folder on the counter.
That afternoon, he chose one photograph for the sitting room.
We put it beside the others.
Nobody called it a statement.
It was his picture.
He wanted it there.
Camilla asked to apologize to him.
I discussed the request with the counselor and asked Theo what he wanted.
He asked whether she would move the chair again.
“No.”
“Will she say I made it a problem?”
“She will not be allowed to argue with you about what happened.”
He thought.
Then said he preferred a note.
Camilla’s first version said she was sorry dinner had become upsetting.
I returned it.
Dinner had not upset itself.
Her next note said she should not have removed his chair or suggested he wasn’t family.
It said he had done nothing wrong by asking where he could sit.
Theo read it beside me.
Then he asked:
“Does she think it now?”
I did not pretend to know every belief inside her.
“She says she understands she was wrong.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the paper.
