He looked over his shoulder.
“Give me one more try.”
I folded my arms.
He fixed the strap, checked the buckle twice, then turned toward me with a cautious smile.
“Six o’clock?”
“Six.”
“And if plans change?”
“You call me.”
“I call you.”
“You don’t make the decision by yourself.”
He nodded.
“We decide together.”
That mattered more than he probably understood.
Caleb had moved out of William’s house.
The trust was finally under his control, but the money didn’t magically repair what had happened between us.
What mattered was what he did after.
He arrived when he said he would.
He attended Nora’s appointments.
He learned which cry meant hunger and which meant exhaustion.
He changed diapers badly at first, then competently.
Most importantly, when something went wrong, he called.
He didn’t disappear.
He didn’t make plans on my behalf and reveal them afterward.
