He knew my history.
He did not try to rescue me from it.
The first time he came to dinner, Ethan asked for his credentials, Sophia asked his opinion on dragons in modern literature, Olivia asked whether doctors could fix broken doll legs, and Noah asked, “Are you going to disappear?”
Aaron had set down his fork.
“No,” he said. “But I won’t make promises with fancy words. I’ll show up when I say I will, and you can keep track.”
Noah did.
He made a chart.
Aaron never missed a box.
I told Daniel about Aaron not to hurt him, but because secrecy had poisoned enough of our lives.
Daniel looked once more at the photograph of my younger self.
“I hope he knows what he has.”
“He does,” I said.
Daniel nodded.
Then, with the faintest trace of old humor, he said, “Your standards improved.”
That startled a laugh out of me.
