Richard woke earlier than usual, the kind of early that belonged to people who had not truly slept. The morning light gentled its way through the curtains of his room, casting long stripes across the floorboards. For a while he lay still, listening to the muted quiet of the house. No footsteps. No kettle. No teenager rummaging through cupboards. Just silence.
A silence he both needed and hated.
He exhaled and reached for his phone. It was only half past seven, but Wendy would already be at her desk.
She answered on the second ring.
"Good morning, Mr. Hale."
"Morning, Wendy." He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Listen, I am taking the day off. There are a few things I need to take care of."
A pause followed, short and crisp, just like her. "Everything all right?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "Nothing to alarm you. But you may need to keep an eye on things today. Call me only if something urgent comes up."
"Yes, sir," Wendy replied. He could picture her now, the firm nod, the brisk efficiency. "Take the day. I will manage."
"Thank you." He hung up before she could say anything else.
He stood for a moment, grounding himself. Today would be difficult. Necessary, but difficult.
In the kitchen, he pulled out a bowl, flour, eggs, milk. Pancakes. Something simple. Something normal. The familiarity of whisking batter settled him a little. By the time the first pancake hit the pan, the scent rose warm and comforting, filling the kitchen with a soft sense of home.
It was steadying.
Footsteps thudded on the stairs.
Drew appeared at the doorway, hair rumpled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He blinked at the sight of his father standing at the cooker.
"You are making breakfast," he said, almost accusingly.
"I am," Richard replied. "Believe it or not, I do remember how."
Drew sank into a chair at the counter. "I thought you had work."
"I took the day off."
Drew stared at him. "Why?"
Richard flipped a pancake instead of answering.
A few minutes later Chloe wandered in, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts. She stopped short. "What is going on?"
"Breakfast," Richard said. "Sit down."
Chloe and Drew exchanged a look. Suspicious. Worried. As if breakfast on a Monday morning could only mean one thing: bad news.
Once the plates were set down and the syrup uncapped, Richard took his own seat. He saw the way both children paused, forks untouched.
"I need to talk to you," he said. "Both of you."
The room shifted. Chloe's fingers clenched on the counter. Drew swallowed hard, his leg bouncing under the table. A tremor worked its way into his jaw.
"Are you sick?" Chloe asked. "Dad, if you are sick, just say it."
Drew's eyes filled with quick, sharp panic. "Please tell us. Don't make us wait."
Richard's heart twisted. He reached across the counter and laid one hand over Drew's, the other over Chloe's.
"I am not sick," he said firmly. "You have nothing to worry about there."
Drew exhaled shakily, but did not relax.
"And this is not about money or work or anything like that," Richard added. "You are safe. Everything is fine."
The tension eased, but only slightly.
Richard leaned back and took a breath. "First, let me ask something. Has your mother tried to contact either of you? At all. Since she left."
Both children shook their heads without hesitation.
"No," Chloe said. "Nothing."
Drew shook his head harder. "We never tried either."
"Ok," Richard said quietly. "Thank you for being honest."
Drew hesitated. "Is she all right? Is she sick or something?"
"No," Richard said. "She is fine." He hesitated, the words bunching painfully in his throat. "She came to the house a couple of days ago."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Chloe sat up straight. Drew froze, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
"What?" Chloe asked.
"She came here," Richard said. "I was alone. She said she wanted to see you both."
He waited. But neither spoke.
"I need you to know," Richard continued, "that if you want to see her, you can tell me. I will not be angry, or hurt, or disappointed. She is still your mother. You have every right to see her. To talk to her."
Chloe stared at her plate. Drew's eyes went dark and faraway.
"I will support you either way," Richard said gently. "I will always love you and be proud of you. Nothing will change that."
Silence descended again. Long. Heavy. The kind of silence that built walls and closed throats.
They sat like that for minutes. He did not push them. He let the weight of it settle, even if it sat like a stone in his chest.
"Take your time," he said softly. "There is no rush. Tell me when you are ready. And if you change your minds afterwards, that is alright too. This is messy. None of us should have had to make a choice like this, but I am here for you, whatever you decide."
Chloe spoke first.
She lifted her head very slowly, eyes shining, but fierce. "Maybe we could meet her somewhere public. Like a café. Just to see what she wants."
Drew did not look up. His fingers were clenched so tightly around his fork that his knuckles had gone white.
Richard turned gently toward him. "Drew. What do you think?"
Drew let out a shuddering breath, the kind someone released when they had been holding it far too long.
"I want to know why," he said finally. His voice cracked. "Why she left us. Why she did not call. Why it took her nine months to come back. I want to know."
Chloe opened her mouth in protest. "It does not matter why. She left because she..."
"Chloe," Richard said quietly. "It is a valid question. He has every right to ask it."
Drew's eyes lifted, bright with anger he could not contain. "You do not know either, do you? Why she left."
"No," Richard said softly. "I do not. I know why we broke up. But I don't know why she didn't stay to try to fix things, or why hasn't contacted either of you."
Drew's lip trembled. "I want you there when I see her. I am not doing it alone."
Richard leaned forward, his voice steady. "I will be there. The whole time. And I will make sure you get the answers you deserve."
Drew nodded, once, twice, then shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth with a kind of blind determination, as if chewing could steady him.
No one spoke for the rest of the meal. They ate in small, silent bites. Chloe pushed syrup around her plate. Drew stared fixedly at his food. Richard watched both of them, every movement, every tremble, every attempt at bravery broke his heart a little more.
When the children finally stood and excused themselves, they moved slowly, heavy-footed, each lost in their own cyclone of thoughts. Drew wiped his eyes and nodded at Richard before leaving the room. Chloe touched her father's shoulder briefly before going upstairs, her hand lingering just a second longer than usual.
The kitchen fell into quiet again.
Richard stood alone beside the table, plates cooling, the smell of pancakes now feeling oddly out of place. His hands trembled once before he drew in a long, steadying breath.
He reached for his phone.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, rehearsing the words he would need to say. Calm. Firm. Controlled. Setting boundaries not for himself, but for his children.
She will not disrupt them. She will not hurt them again.
And if she tries, I will be there to stop it.
He took another breath and tightened his grip on the phone.
Time to call Eleanor.
Time to set the terms.
Time to face whatever came next.