“I retired months ago. Once I stopped telling myself I was still protecting a patient, I had to admit I was protecting myself.”
“So why now?”
I stood.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
I left before she could say anything else.
***
The next afternoon, I pulled Teagan’s old storage box from my closet.
I hadn’t opened it in years.
Inside were school programs, photographs, and the cheap silver bracelet she always wore.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
Then I found another photograph of the same boy.
Same glove.
Underneath it was a torn notebook page.
- Buy diapers.
- Finish thank-you cards.
- Ask Mom about night classes.
- Tell Mom.
Tell Mom.
She had planned to. She thought there would be time.
Same glove.
“Grandma?”
Lucas stood in the doorway.
He saw the open box and sat beside me.
“Is that Mom’s stuff?”
“Yes.”
I handed him a school photo.
“Grandma?”
He smiled.
“I look like her.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
Then he noticed the boy’s photograph.
“Who’s that?”
“Nobody.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
The answer came too fast.
Lucas frowned.
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“That lady told you something, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“About my dad?”
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“I’m trying to understand it first. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
“You always tell me not to hide stuff because I’m scared.”
