He paused carefully.

“Sarah rejected him.”

“And?”

“He didn’t accept rejection well.”

Grandpa’s jaw tightened.

“He fired her. Then he used his money and connections to make sure other families nearby wouldn’t hire her either.”

A forgotten memory suddenly returned.

A man shouting.

My mother gripping my hand.

A doorway.

“She was scared,” I whispered.

Grandpa nodded.

“I confronted William once.”

Then his expression softened.

“Caleb was there too.”

“He was?”

“Standing at the top of the stairs. Watching.”

I wiped tears from my face.

“How did I forget all of this?”

“You were very young.”

Grandpa sighed.

“Your mother packed everything and left that same week.”

He looked at me.

“Afterward, we never spoke that family’s name again.”

I stared down at Nora.

“But Caleb wasn’t William.”

“He was William’s son.”

“He was seven.”

“I know.”

Grandpa’s voice softened.

“But after what William did to your mother, I didn’t want to risk letting that family anywhere near you.”

Then he looked at Nora.

“And when you told me Caleb disappeared after learning you were pregnant…”

He stopped.

“I thought it proved me right.”

I felt something twist inside my chest.

“If he was really just like William, why did he spend two years with me?”

Grandpa didn’t answer.

Because I already knew the answer I needed wouldn’t come from him.

“I need to find Caleb.”

Grandpa closed his eyes.

“I need to hear the truth from him.”

He held Nora for another moment.

Then carefully handed her back.

That night, after Nora was asleep in the crib Grandpa had made, I opened the cedar box.

For the first time in my life.

If Grandpa had hidden an entire part of my childhood from me, I needed to know what else had been buried.

Under the scarves, I found a photograph.

I was four years old.

Sitting on a red bicycle.

Behind me stood a dark-haired boy.

One hand rested on the handlebars.

And his eyes were unmistakable.

One light.

One dark.

Caleb.

Underneath the photograph were the letters.

The earliest was written in a child’s uneven handwriting.

Dear Sarah,

Where did the little girl go?

Did she take her bicycle?

I hope she did.

Please tell me she’s okay.

Caleb.

My hands began shaking.

He remembered me.

Even at seven.

I opened another letter.

Then another.

The handwriting grew older with each page.

Teenage letters.

Young-adult letters.

In one envelope, old folded bills were tucked between the pages.

I saved this from my allowance.

Please use it for her.

Whatever she needs.

Just tell me she’s okay.

I found another.

Grandfather says there will be a trust for me someday.

Dad controls it.

Maybe when I’m older, I’ll finally be able to help you myself.

I stared at the letters.

Caleb had known everything.

All these years.

Then I turned over the final letter.

On the back were five words written in my mother’s handwriting.

He isn’t like his father.

I read them again.

My mother had every reason to hate William.

Yet she had saved Caleb’s letters for years.

She had believed he was different.

Suddenly, memories from my relationship with Caleb began falling into place.

One night on his couch, long before I was pregnant, he had casually asked whether I remembered owning a red bicycle as a child.

I had laughed.

“Yes, actually.”

And Caleb had smiled in a strange, private way.

Now I understood why.

He had already known.

At the bookstore, he hadn’t discovered me by accident either.

He had recognized my name.

He had come looking for me.

And perhaps worst of all, there had been nights when I had complained about the wealthy family my mother once worked for.

I told Caleb how badly that experience had affected her.

He listened.

He knew I was talking about his own father.

And he said nothing.

At sunrise, I strapped Nora into her car seat.

Then I drove to the address written on the oldest envelope.

The house was smaller than I remembered.

Still large.

Still elegant.

But not the mansion my childhood memory had created.

The garden, however, was exactly the same.

I knocked.

An older man answered.

Gray hair.

Thinner now.

But I recognized his eyes.

William.

“You look exactly like your mother,” he said.

I tightened my hold on Nora.

“I need to see Caleb.”

“Caleb isn’t available.”

“Then tell me why he left.”

William looked at Nora.

For one brief second, recognition flashed across his face.

The curls.

The chin.

Those eyes.

Then his expression went flat.

“He knew you were pregnant.”

He paused.

“And he chose to leave.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That isn’t my problem.”

He stepped back.

“Go home.”

As I turned away, another memory came rushing back.

My mother crying.

William shouting.

His voice following us down these same steps.

Don’t come back.

Then another memory.

A small dark-haired boy running after our car.

Crying.

Someone holding him back.

Caleb.

And suddenly I remembered the bicycle again.

His hand on the seat.

Me screaming,

“Don’t let go!”

And Caleb shouting,

“I won’t! Keep going! I’ve got you!”

I stopped halfway to my car.

William expected me to believe that boy had grown into a man who could simply abandon his daughter.

Maybe people changed.

Maybe he had.

But I was done letting other people decide what truth I was allowed to know.

I turned around.

“William.”

He looked annoyed.

“You’re becoming hysterical.”

“No.”

My voice was steady.

“I’m being very clear.”

I stepped toward the porch.

“I am not leaving until Caleb looks me in the eye and tells me himself that he doesn’t want his daughter.”

William’s hand tightened against the doorframe.

Then a voice came from somewhere deeper inside the house.

“Dad.”

Footsteps approached.

“Move.”

William stepped aside.

And Caleb walked onto the porch.

He looked exhausted.

Hollow.

Like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

But it was him.

The same curls.

The same chin.

The same mismatched eyes Nora had inherited.

I had rehearsed so many things I would say if I ever saw him again.

Every one disappeared.

Finally, I asked,

“How long did you know who I was?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“From the bookstore.”

My stomach tightened.

“So you found me on purpose.”

“I saw your name on the event listing.”

His voice shook.

“Then I walked in and saw you.”

He looked at me.

“You had Sarah’s face.”