“She was scared,” I whispered.
Grandpa nodded.
“I confronted William once.”
Then his expression softened.
“Caleb was there too.”
“He was?”
“Standing at the top of the stairs. Watching.”
I wiped tears from my face.
“How did I forget all of this?”
“You were very young.”
Grandpa sighed.
“Your mother packed everything and left that same week.”
He looked at me.
“Afterward, we never spoke that family’s name again.”
I stared down at Nora.
“But Caleb wasn’t William.”
“He was William’s son.”
“He was seven.”
“I know.”
Grandpa’s voice softened.
“But after what William did to your mother, I didn’t want to risk letting that family anywhere near you.”
Then he looked at Nora.
“And when you told me Caleb disappeared after learning you were pregnant…”
He stopped.
“I thought it proved me right.”
I felt something twist inside my chest.
“If he was really just like William, why did he spend two years with me?”
Grandpa didn’t answer.
Because I already knew the answer I needed wouldn’t come from him.
“I need to find Caleb.”
Grandpa closed his eyes.
“I need to hear the truth from him.”
He held Nora for another moment.
Then carefully handed her back.
That night, after Nora was asleep in the crib Grandpa had made, I opened the cedar box.
For the first time in my life.
If Grandpa had hidden an entire part of my childhood from me, I needed to know what else had been buried.
Under the scarves, I found a photograph.
I was four years old.
Sitting on a red bicycle.
Behind me stood a dark-haired boy.
One hand rested on the handlebars.
And his eyes were unmistakable.
One light.
One dark.
Caleb.
Underneath the photograph were the letters.
The earliest was written in a child’s uneven handwriting.
Dear Sarah,
Where did the little girl go?
Did she take her bicycle?
I hope she did.
Please tell me she’s okay.
Caleb.
My hands began shaking.
He remembered me.
Even at seven.
I opened another letter.
Then another.
The handwriting grew older with each page.
Teenage letters.
Young-adult letters.
In one envelope, old folded bills were tucked between the pages.
I saved this from my allowance.
Please use it for her.
Whatever she needs.
Just tell me she’s okay.
I found another.
Grandfather says there will be a trust for me someday.
Dad controls it.
Maybe when I’m older, I’ll finally be able to help you myself.
I stared at the letters.
Caleb had known everything.
All these years.
Then I turned over the final letter.
On the back were five words written in my mother’s handwriting.
He isn’t like his father.
I read them again.
My mother had every reason to hate William.
Yet she had saved Caleb’s letters for years.
She had believed he was different.
