The months that followed hurt in ways I never admitted.
Renee left for appointment after appointment. Some lasted an hour. Others took half the day. She came home exhausted, her shoulders aching and her hands sore.
Sometimes she fell asleep on Eli’s bedroom floor while reading to him, and I’d cover them both with a blanket because neither had made it to bed.
The months that followed hurt.
Every tired smile Renee forced felt like proof that I had failed her.
At work, I’d catch myself doing useless math. If I’d started my own company sooner. If I’d worked more Saturdays. If I’d been better with money.
The answer never changed.
I wasn’t enough.
Every night before turning out the light, I’d kneel beside our bed, kiss her cheek, and whisper, “Thank you.”
I wasn’t enough.
She’d run her fingers through my hair without answering.
I thought Renee was trying not to cry.
***
Last Tuesday, I forgot my torque wrench at home.
Daniel, my boss, waved at me from the apartment building we were renovating.
“Hey Cal, all good?”
I gestured with a thumbs up. Didn’t find it necessary to tell him I was heading home.
Last Tuesday, I forgot my torque wrench at home.
I’d worked for Daniel for six years. He’d taught me half the trade, attended Eli’s birthday parties, and once slipped an extra Christmas bonus into my paycheck while pretending it was a bookkeeping error.
I trusted him.
That was why, when I saw his truck parked outside my house 20 minutes later, I didn’t immediately panic, though I was surprised.
I parked the truck outside the gate and walked up. The kitchen window was open.
I trusted him.
As I walked toward the porch, I heard Daniel’s voice.
