“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”
I stared at him.
“The baby?”
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”
“He’s alive. He’s going to need you.”
My daughter never came home.
My grandson did.
For ten years, it was just the two of us.
Lucas grew into a sweet, curious boy who loved baseball, Sunday pancakes, and one question I couldn’t answer.
“He’s alive. He’s going to need you.”
“Grandma, who was my dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Now I had Teagan’s letter in my coat pocket.
And for the first time, I was afraid the answer might be worse.
***
At home, I slid the envelope into the kitchen drawer.
Lucas dropped his backpack beside the table.
“Grandma, who was my dad?”
“Who was that lady?”
“Someone who knew your mom.”
His face brightened.
“Really? What did she say?”
“Not much.”
“Did she know my dad?”
“Someone who knew your mom.”
I closed the drawer too quickly.
“I don’t know.”
Lucas watched me.
“You always say that.”
“Because this is something I just don’t know, my love.”
He went quiet.
“You always say that.”
That was Teagan’s move too. I hated seeing it on him.
After he went to bed, I stood at the counter with the envelope in my hands.
Then I opened it.
A photograph slid out.
Teagan stood beside a teenage boy.
I hated seeing it on him.
I knew him: quiet, polite. He’d been at our house twice during Teagan’s pregnancy, but I’d barely spoken to him.
A worn baseball glove was tucked under his arm.
I unfolded the letter.
“Mom,
I know you think I won’t tell you because I don’t trust you.
That isn’t why.
He knows about the baby.”
A worn baseball glove was tucked under his arm.
I stopped reading.
My hands started shaking.
“He wanted to stay. But wanting something and being ready for it aren’t the same thing.
His family keeps telling him this will ruin everything he planned. I told him not to come back because he’s scared of disappointing them. If he comes back, I need it to be because he chooses us himself.”
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“One day my little daughter told me, ‘Mom, every time Grandpa gives me a bath, he asks me to play a game. I have to close my eyes, and while they’re closed, he does something…’ I froze. The next day, I opened the bathroom door without warning… and what I saw made my legs start shaking My daughter, Emily, was six years old when she first said the sentence that kept me awake almost the entire night. That afternoon, we were in the kitchen. I was making dinner while she sat at the table drawing. Then, without even looking up, she said, “Mom, did you know Grandpa and I have a game?” I smiled. My father, George, was seventy-six years old, and he and Emily were almost inseparable. He picked her up from school, read her stories, and taught her how to plant flowers in the garden. “What kind of game?” I asked. Emily thought for a moment. “When Grandpa gives me a bath, he tells me to close my eyes.” The knife in my hand stopped. I turned toward her. “Why?” She shrugged. “So we can play.” Okay?” She looked at me, confused. “But Grandpa doesn’t do anything bad.” That sentence should have reassured me. It didn’t. That night, I barely slept. My father had always been the person I trusted most. Whenever my husband had to work late, Dad came over to help me. Whenever Emily was sick, he could sit beside her for hours. I had never seen anything that made me suspicious of him. But now my mind had taken one sentence and built a hundred frightening possibilities around it. The next morning, I started remembering little things that had never seemed important before. A few weeks earlier, Dad had told me, “You’re busy. I’ll get Emily ready for bed.” Another time, the bathroom door had been closed. When I knocked, I heard both of them laughing. Back then, I had smiled. Now the same memory felt completely different. All day, I kept telling myself I was overreacting. But something in me refused to let it go. The next evening, Dad came over again. After dinner, Emily ran up to him. “Grandpa, are we going to play our game today?” I looked at my father. He smiled. “If your mom doesn’t mind.” “Of course,” I said. But I had already made up my mind. Ten minutes later, I heard the water running. Then Emily laughing. I slowly walked toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but not locked. I stepped close enough to hear them. Dad said, far from every terrible thing my mind had imagined that I just stood there for a few seconds. Emily was sitting safely in the tub, surrounded by bubbles and bath toys. Her eyes were closed. My father was holding a small cup in one hand, using it to rinse her hair, while in the other hand he held one of Emily’s rubber ducks. “Mom,” Emily laughed, “you ruined the game!” I looked at them, confused. “What game?” Dad slowly smiled. “Guess the sound.” It turned out that a few months earlier, Emily had started being afraid of having her hair washed because shampoo had once gotten into her eyes. Every bath had become stressful. My father didn’t want that fear to get worse. So he invented a game. Emily would close her eyes, and Dad would make sounds using different bath toys—the rubber duck, a little cup, a water bottle. While she tried to guess which toy was making the sound, he carefully rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Every time she guessed correctly, she earned one “star.” After ten stars, Grandpa urm took her out for ice cream. I stood in the doorway, feeling tears fill my eyes. Dad looked at me. He understood immediately. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I couldn’t lie. “Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You did the right thing by checking.” I looked at him in surprise. He continued, “A mother should always make sure her child is safe. I should have explained our game to you sooner.” Emily opened her eyes. “Mom, I told you Grandpa urm wasn’t doing anything bad.” I walked over and kissed her forehead. That evening, when Dad was getting ready to leave, he stopped by the door and said quietly, “By the way, this game isn’t new.” “What do you mean?” He smiled. “You were afraid of having your hair washed too. When you were five, I played the same game with you.” I froze. Then suddenly, I remembered. Closed eyes.
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