FOR SIX YEARS, I BELIEVED MY SON HAD ABANDONED ME—THEN HE CAME HOME AND SAID, “MAKE GRANT TELL YOU THE TRUTH.”
The knock came just after sunrise.
I almost ignored it.
Grant had already left for his morning walk, and I was not expecting anyone.
I tightened my robe around myself and opened the front door.
A man stood on the porch.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark jeans.
A plain navy sweater.
His hair was neatly trimmed, and a short beard covered his jaw.
For one second, I thought he had the wrong house.
Then I saw his eyes.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Eli?”
He swallowed.
He did not smile.
“Hi, Mom.”
A sob caught in my throat.
Six years.
I had imagined this moment every day for six years.
I imagined seeing him in a grocery store.
At church.
Walking down a Bellmere sidewalk.
Sometimes I imagined him older.
