Then I saw a note on his bed.
Mom,
I love you more than anyone in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. Please don’t look for me.
I’m sorry.
Eli.
I screamed.
Grant came running upstairs.
He acted shocked.
For the following weeks, he played the role of worried stepfather perfectly.
He drove me to the police station.
Printed missing-person flyers.
Walked through parks with me.
Helped me call friends.
When police reminded us that Eli was legally an adult and had the right to leave, Grant wrapped his arm around me.
“We have to accept his decision.”
Months became years.
Every birthday, I baked Eli’s favorite chocolate cake.
Every Christmas, I wrapped a gift I never mailed.
Every Mother’s Day, I stared at my phone.
Waiting.
It never rang.
Whenever I cried, Grant repeated the same sentence.
“You have to let him go.”
