Noah’s eyes were huge.
“Grandpa Walter?” he whispered — because of course Noah, who talks to everyone, was the one child on the street who had waved at the gray house with the closed curtains.
I kept reading.
“Nine years ago, my son Daniel got a young woman named Rachel pregnant. When the tests showed the baby would have Down syndrome, Daniel panicked. He was weak — I raised him weak, and that is my fault — and he left. He signed away his rights and moved across the country and told himself it was the responsible thing.
I was so angry and so ashamed of him that I did the second most cowardly thing in this story.
I said nothing.
