Choice Assorted

Chapter 8: Returning, not for herself

Dodo had never known courage to feel like this — not loud, not blazing. Just a quiet, persistent ache in her ribs as she parked outside the small, neat house in Wentworth. The jacaranda trees still lined the road like they used to when she was seventeen, pregnant, and terrified.

This time, she walked up the steps with her back straight.

The door opened before she knocked. A woman in a lilac headscarf and round glasses blinked at her, then brought both hands to her mouth.

“Dorothea?”

“Hello, Ma Solomon,” Dodo said gently.

“Oh, my child—!” The older woman’s eyes filled. She stepped forward and pulled Dodo into a hug so tight it startled her. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Inside, the house smelled of cardamom and lemon polish. Nothing had changed — not the old radio in the kitchen, not the faded wedding photo of Shaun’s parents in the hallway.

They sat at the table with rooibos tea and Marie biscuits between them.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Solomon said, reaching for Dodo’s hand. “I wasn’t kind. I wasn’t right. We shut the door on you when you needed us most.”

Dodo stared at her tea. “You were protecting your son.”

“No,” Solomon said, firmly. “I was protecting our pride.”

Silence.

“You know,” Solomon continued, “Shaun… he was a fool. He loved you. But he didn’t know how to go against his father. And I—I should’ve done better. I was a mother. I should’ve understood what you were going through.”

Dodo said nothing, but the sting in her throat made her blink hard.

“She’s beautiful,” Solomon said, voice softening. “Portia. I only saw a photo once, years ago. She’s the best part of both of you.”

“She wants to meet you all,” Dodo said, still unsure if her voice would crack. “She’s been asking.”

Solomon nodded quickly. “Of course. Please. Bring her. And I’ll call Shaun. He’s married now, with two boys. But he’s a good father. He’ll want to meet her — I’ll make sure he does.”

Dodo looked up at her. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Solomon touched her hand again. “You’re the one who raised her.”

And for a moment, Dodo let herself feel the warmth. The validation she didn’t know she still craved. The healing she didn’t expect.

But the next visit would not be this soft.

Later That Week – Chesterville

The township hadn’t changed much. Narrow lanes. Corrugated roofs. Chicken-wire fences with sagging gates. Dodo sat in the borrowed car outside Lucky’s mother’s old house, hand gripping the steering wheel.

When the door opened, Lucky stood there — taller than she remembered, belly now padded with age, but his face unchanged. Closed. Suspicious.

He leaned on the gate, arms crossed.

“Well. Look who it is.”

“Hello, Lucky,” she said.

“You dying?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You sick? Need something?” he said. “Or did you finally lose that city job and now you remember I exist?”

Dodo inhaled deeply. “I don’t need anything. I’m not here for me.”

He waited, jaw hard.

“I’m here because Henry — your son — wants to meet you.”

Lucky snorted, turned and spat on the dirt. “So now you dump that on me, eh?”

“I’m not dumping anything. I’m telling you what he asked.”

“After what — thirteen years? Now I must play happy family?”

“I’m not asking you to play anything,” Dodo said calmly, though her hands trembled. “He just wants to know where he comes from.”

Lucky narrowed his eyes. “You sure this ain’t about money?”

She stared him down. “I don’t want your money. And I don’t want your apology. Henry deserves to know the man he came from — even if that man isn’t ready to be known.”

Lucky didn’t move for a long time. Then he sighed, rubbed his face.

“I need to speak to my wife,” he said eventually. “Can’t just let things come barging into my house.”

Dodo nodded, jaw tight. “Let me know. But don’t make him wait forever. He’s a better boy than you probably deserve.”

She turned and walked back to the car.

This wasn’t about closure. It wasn’t about redemption. It was about truth. And maybe Henry wouldn’t get what Portia had — maybe Lucky wouldn’t show up with soft words and warmth. But at least, she had given him the chance.

That evening she poured out to her journal.

I thought it would destroy me — going back. Facing the people who turned away from me.

But it didn’t.

Portia’s grandmother… held my hand like I was her child. Said the words I waited half my life to hear.

Lucky… well, he hasn’t changed. But I didn’t go there for him.

I went for Henry.

And I’ll keep going. Back to the hard places. Back to the truths I buried.

Not because I owe the past anything.

But because my children deserve a whole story.

— Dodo