But Grandpa didn’t actually know what Caleb had done.
Neither did I.
Not completely.
I took Nora back into my arms.
“I have to find out for myself.”
“Emily…”
“I love you, Grandpa. But this is my life.”
That night, after Nora finally fell asleep, I went to the closet and pulled out my mother’s cedar box.
It contained the things I had avoided touching since childhood.
Photographs.
Letters.
Scarves that still somehow seemed to carry a trace of her perfume.
I wasn’t even sure what I was searching for.
Maybe proof that Grandpa was wrong.
Maybe proof that Caleb had always been exactly who I’d believed he was.
Instead, I found evidence of something else.
A photograph lay beneath several folded pieces of fabric.
I was four years old, smiling proudly on a red bicycle.
Beside me stood a dark-haired boy.
One blue eye.
One dark eye.
