“What about the money?” Diane asked.
“It’s yours,” I said, pushing the manila folder across the table toward her. “It was always yours. We’re going to use it to sell that house, and we’re going to find a place of our own. If you’ll let me.”
Diane looked at me, and for the first time, a real, bright smile broke across her face. It was the exact same smile I saw in the mirror every morning.
“I’d like that, Ellen,” she said.
We walked out of the diner together into the cool Ohio afternoon. The house on Maple Street was still sitting there, full of dusty furniture and old lies, but I was done cleaning it.
I reached out and took my mother’s hand. My real mother’s hand. And for the first time in thirty-four years, I felt like I was finally on my way home.
