But by my fifth month of pregnancy, I finally stopped waiting.
Because people don’t accidentally empty half a closet.
They don’t change their phone number by mistake.
Caleb had not simply gotten scared.
He had left deliberately.
Around that same time, Grandpa Walter finished building Nora’s crib.
He spent hours in his garage sanding every edge until the wood was perfectly smooth.
“We’re going to be fine,” he told me.
“You, me, and this baby.”
Then he smiled.
“We don’t need anyone who doesn’t want to stay.”
I believed him.
Grandpa had been right about almost everything in my life.
My parents died when I was ten.
A car accident on a wet road.
After that, Grandpa Walter raised me.
He was patient.
Quiet.
Steady.
He became everything I had left.
The few belongings I still had from my mother were stored inside a cedar box at the back of my closet.
