Daniel’s voice dropped.

“I told him he was doing it again.”

I opened my eyes.

“Doing what?”

“Deciding what you could handle without asking you.”

He wiped his cheek.

“Dad got angry.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was dying and didn’t have time to argue.”

“And you?”

Daniel looked toward the door.

“I told him if he wanted you to have your own life so badly, he could start by letting you have your own answers.”

Then Daniel looked down at the pink dress.

“And that’s when everything got worse.”

I waited.

“I told him I loved you, Mom… but I wasn’t giving up my future to manage yours. He asked me to promise anyway.”

“And that’s why you left?”

“I was angry. And I thought if I stayed, he’d keep making me responsible for fixing something he should’ve talked to you about himself.”

I looked toward the chapel door.

Richard had finally noticed me disappearing inside our family.

And somehow, even then, he’d tried to solve it without asking me.

“So why wear the dress?”

Daniel gave a miserable little shrug.

“After Dad died, I almost didn’t come. Then I remembered what he said you’d do today.”

My hand stopped on the pink fabric.

“What?”

“Organize everything. Comfort everybody. Make sure everybody ate.”

I glanced toward the reception room.

Daniel gave me a sad smile.

“He was right.”

Then he tugged awkwardly at the pink skirt.

“I figured there was one thing you couldn’t organize your way around.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

“You walking into your father’s funeral dressed like me at 23?”

“Exactly,” he said.

My laughter collapsed into tears.

Daniel knelt beside me.

“I’m sorry I stayed away, Mom.”

“I’m angry you did. But I understand why.”

He nodded.

Then, very quietly, he said, “I knew all Dad’s stories.”

He looked down.

“I knew your passwords. I didn’t know if you still danced, Mom.”

Because I had made it easy.

I remembered birthdays before anyone asked.

Fixed problems before anyone noticed them.

Said “whatever you want” so often that eventually nobody needed to wonder what I wanted.

“Sometimes,” I whispered, “it was easier to do everything myself than find out whether anybody else noticed.”

Daniel took my hand.

“Do you still dance?”

I almost said I hadn’t had time.

Instead, I thought about it.

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t suggest lessons.

Didn’t make a plan.

He just said, “Okay.”

—

That evening, funeral dishes covered my kitchen.

I reached automatically for them.

Then stopped.

“Leave them,” I whispered to myself.

Daniel stared. “They’ll be disgusting tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow can complain.”

He laughed.

The pink dress hung over a chair.

A little later, Daniel opened the takeout app.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever you…”

I stopped.

He waited.

No suggestions.

No rescue.

I looked at him.

“Chinese.”

Daniel grimaced. “I hate Chinese.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Chinese it is.”

For once, the dishes stayed in the sink.

The pink dress stayed where I could see it.

Daniel complained about the egg rolls while I ate exactly what I’d wanted.