She looks like she wants to argue but catches Grandma’s warning glance. “Fine. But if you change your mind…”
“I know where to find you.” I attempt a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
The kitchen falls silent, the only sound the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Each second feels heavier than the last, weighted with all the things I don’t know, all the decisions I’m not ready to make.
“I think I need to be alone for a while,” I finally say, rising from the table.
Grandma nods, patting my hand. “Take all the time you need, dear.”
Cheryl looks less convinced but stands too. “I’ll check on you later.”
I climb the stairs to my room slowly, each step an effort. Inside, I close the door and sink onto my bed, staring out the window and hoping to get a glimpse of my neighbor.
The man I thought I knew.
Then I run to the window and pull the curtains shut before I return to the bed, pull my knees to my chest, and let the tears come again, quiet and relentless. For my father and my mom. For the trust I thought I’d finally found. For the future I’d started to imagine with a man who turned out to be a stranger.
Hours pass. Grandma shows up to open the curtains, saying, “Sun brings clarity to dark times,” before she softly closes the door behind her.
The light changes, shadows stretching across my floor as the day wanes. My phone buzzes several times, but I don’t check it. I’m not ready for his explanations or excuses. Not yet.
When the sun finally sets, I drag myself to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the salt tracks on my cheeks. I change into clean pajamas and crawl back into bed, exhausted but knowing sleep won’t come easily.
Just as I’m about to turn off the lamp, there’s a soft knock at my door.
“I’m fine, Grandma,” I call out, not wanting company.
The door opens anyway, and Grandma steps in, carrying a mug of something steaming and a small plate with two cookies.
“I wasn’t asking,” she says, setting the items on my nightstand. “Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows.”
Despite everything, I feel a smile tug at my lips. “I’m not ten anymore.”
“No, but some remedies are timeless.” She sits on the edge of my bed, her weight familiar and comforting. “When you were little and had a bad day, this was all it took to make things right again.”
“I wish it were still that simple.” I accept the mug from her hand and take a sip. And instantly start coughing—the hot liquid burning my throat, and not only from the temperature.
“I added a pinch of bourbon,” she chuckles.
“A pinch?” I keep coughing because it feels like half the bottle is in my cup; I don’t even taste the chocolate.
“In my measurements, yes.” She smooths my damp hair back from my face, her touch gentle. “You know, your father wasn’t just a victim of violence. He was a complex man who made mistakes, had regrets.”
I frown, confused by the sudden change in topic. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, her eyes distant. “Your father had a temper, Nora. Not many people saw it—he kept it controlled, hidden behind that gentle smile everyone remembers. But it was there.”
I sit up straighter, unsettled by this revelation. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the night before his accident, before that man attacked him, your father was in a fight of his own.” She smooths the quilt with her weathered hand. “At a bar across town. He’d said some things he shouldn’t have to the wrong person.”
“No.” I shake my head, disbelieving. “Dad wasn’t violent.”
“He wasn’t a violent man, no. But he had moments, like we all do.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “The man whoattacked him—it wasn’t random. It was the brother of the man your father had words with before.”
“Words?”
“They had a fight the night before. I remember he came here with a bruise on his face.”
