Albert’s voice became softer, but no less painful. ‘What about Danny?’ – He asks. ‘Were you going to keep him too? You said there was something wrong with him?’
Louise shakes her head violently, her hands shaking as she grips the edge of the table. ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant. I love him, Albert. But it’s so hard. He never speaks, never looks at me, and sometimes I don’t know how to get through to him. I feel like I’m letting him down.’
Her confession hangs in the air, raw and unvarnished. There is silence for a moment.
Albert looks at her, his anger slowly replaced by something sadder, something more broken.
‘I’m going to take Danny upstairs,’ I say quietly, sensing this is a conversation they need to have without strangers.
Danny doesn’t protest as I lead him to the stairs. He walks beside me, calm as ever, his small hand sliding over mine.
The days after Danny’s birthday are like the aftermath of a hurricane. The air is heavy with the weight of everything that’s been said, and nothing seems the same.
Louise tries to explain everything to me when Danny is asleep. She tells me that she has felt trapped for years, that she never wanted to be a mother but did it because Albert wanted her to.
‘I don’t know how to be Danny’s mother,’ she admits one night, her voice sounding quiet. ‘I’ve tried, Mum. I’ve really tried. But I just…I don’t feel it.’
I don’t know what to say. How do I comfort my daughter when she says she’s not coping with her child? How do I forgive her for wanting to run away? I can’t. I can’t yet. Maybe never.
Albert, on the other hand, is acting fast. He’s filed for divorce, his heart too scarred to even try to fix what’s broken between them. I sit with him one evening after Danny has fallen asleep, and a heavy silence hangs between us.
‘I don’t know what to do, Brenda,’ he says, his voice rough with fatigue. ‘I thought I knew her. I thought we were together. But now… I don’t even know who she is now.’
I reach for his hand and squeeze it gently. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Albert. Sometimes people just…drift apart. And sometimes they break.’ I swallow, trying to find the right words. ‘But you still have Danny. And he needs you. More than ever.’
Albert nods, though his eyes stare off into the distance. ‘He’s started talking more,’ he says suddenly. ‘Not a lot, but sometimes. Like… he was waiting for something.’
I pause, letting his words soak in. ‘Maybe he was waiting.’
It’s been a few months since the divorce was finalised. Danny has started talking more often, though his words are still few. He prefers to observe and absorb everything before sharing what’s on his mind.
I’ve learnt not to push him. He’ll talk when he’s ready.
One evening I tuck him into bed and his little body curls up into a ball.
‘Grandma,’ he says quietly, a calmness still in his voice that sometimes scares me. ‘Do you know why I’ve been quiet for so long?’
I blink, startled by the question. ‘Why, baby?’
He looks down, picking at the corner of his blanket. ‘I was waiting for the right time.’
My heart clenches. ‘The right time for what?’
‘To tell the truth,’ he says simply.
I sit and stare at him, thoughts swirling in my head. He’s only five years old, but sometimes I think he sees more than all of us put together.
I lean over and kiss him on the forehead. ‘Thank you for telling me the truth, Danny.’
He doesn’t say anything else, just rolls over in bed, ready to fall asleep. I sit and stare at him for a long time. I realise now that his silence is not a burden. It is his strength. His way of understanding the world. And in a way, it has brought us all closer to the truth.
