Closet doors.
Footsteps.
Finally, Grant came downstairs carrying the full suitcase.
He stopped beside the front door.
“I’m sorry.”
It was the first genuine apology he had offered.
It was also six years too late.
I opened the door.
Grant looked at me one final time.
“I never thought he would come back.”
“I did.”
My voice shook.
“I just wish I hadn’t had to wait this long.”
Grant lowered his head.
Then walked out.
I closed the door behind him.
Only then did I notice the bread rolls still scattered across the floor from the bakery bag he had dropped.
Neither of us had remembered to pick them up.
And somehow, for the first time in years, the house felt peaceful.
“May I Hug You?”
I turned toward Eli.
He was still standing near the same place where he had stood when Grant first entered.
Almost like he was unsure whether he belonged there.
