Page 76 of Buttons

“Your creativity. The ability to see potential where others see problems. To imagine spaces transformed, lives changed. I structured our home to show my success, but you’re creating abusiness with compassion. There’s no question which is more valuable.”

I pause again. The next words feel central to everything I need to express.

“Your nose.”

I swallow hard and continue:

“Your perfect, distinctive nose. The one that I stupidly worried our children would inherit. I was so wrong. So incredibly, devastatingly wrong. When Leo was born and I saw that nose on his tiny face, something shifted inside me, though I was too blind to recognize it. When Meredith arrived with the same feature, I felt a flash of recognition. Their noses are physical manifestations of your spirit. Distinctive. Unique. Perfect, not despite being different, but because of it. I see your face in our children and feel nothing but gratitude that they carry this piece of you into the world.”

On and on I continue, picking out dozens of my favorite Elowen qualities. Every quality transforms into love.

What I’ve written isn’t an apology, though it contains elements of one. It’s simply the truth about what I value in the woman I married but never truly saw. The woman I’m only now beginning to understand, much too late.

I have to become better, regardless of the outcome. Not for strategic advantage or relationship leverage, but because I’ve glimpsed who I could be—who I should be—and can’t un-see it. For Leo and Meredith. For myself. And yes, for Elowen, whether she ever knows it or not.

Rather than send her this new document, I’ll keep it for myself as a reminder of the woman I took for granted. Finally finished, I save it, close my laptop, and pack up. I’m meeting Elowen and the kids for dinner at their place tomorrow. It’s another chance to appreciate my family.

Chapter 32

Julian

Iknock on Elowen’s door, knowing I’m four minutes early. I used to count tardiness in seconds, but now I stand in this unfamiliar hallway with its scuffed baseboards, wondering if arriving early is still controlling and imposing my schedule on everyone else’s day.

The door swings open, and there are my children, faces bright with an enthusiasm I’m still not used to seeing directed at me.

“Dad!” Leo’s voice cracks with excitement. “You’re here! I need to show you my project!”

“Daddy!” Meredith barrels into my legs with the force of a miniature linebacker. Her curls tickle my chin as I bend to lift her, smelling the strawberry shampoo Elowen prefers.

“Careful with the door,” Elowen says from somewhere behind them. “Mrs. Ahme across the hall complains about noise.”

I step inside, carefully closing the door behind me. “I’m not too early, am I?”

“What?” She frowns and glances at the clock. “No. A few minutes is fine.”

“What would you consider too early?”

“Too early, Julian?”

My irritation rises, but I push it down. She’s echoing because she’s trying to understand. “Yes. If I came, say, half an hour early, would that be frustrating?”

She hums from the back of her throat. “A little. Think of it as your business meetings. If a client came five, ten minutes early, you might not be ready for them, but you wouldn’t freak out, right?” I nod. “But if they were thirty minutes, or an hour…”

Got it. I thank her and then scan the apartment.

Children’s artwork covers the refrigerator. I recognize Leo’s handwriting on science diagrams and Meredith’s exuberant splashes of color that spill beyond whatever she’s trying to depict. Magnetic bright letters spell out “HOME” across the middle of the fridge.

“Dad, come see!” Leo tugs my sleeve, pulling me toward the dining table where papers and cardboard are arranged in neat piles. “It’s my science project. I’m building a model of sustainable energy for a house, like I told you. Mom says your company has invested in some.”

“We have solar panels,” Leo explains, pointing to small blue squares cut from construction paper, “and a wind turbine for backup power.” A lone toilet paper roll stands behind the house with what looks like pillow feathers glued to the top of it.

“It’s impressive,” I say, and mean it. The design is ambitious for a nine-year-old.

Leo beams, and I realize I’ve accidentally said exactly the right thing by treating his work seriously.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Meredith tugs at my sleeve from the other side. “Come see Bartholomew! I’m taking care of him so Mom can see how good I take care of kitties, so then maybe I can take Pepper home!”

“Just a minute, Mi-Mi.” I crouch to meet her eye level. “Let me finish looking at Leo’s project first, then I promise I’ll meet Bartholomew.”