11
Caleb told her everything. He held nothing back.
“So that’s why you were so insistent that Leo leave, that he go back to his birth mother,” Mom said. She w
the hospital corridor. Caleb knelt before her. “But why the sudden change of heart now?”
was sitting on a bench in
He didn’t answer. “Mom, do I have your blessing?”
stop this madness! Leo is gone! You
She had lost all of her usual gentle composure. She stared at him, her teeth clenched. “Caleb, stop can never be together!”
Seeing the vacant look in his eyes, fresh tears welled up: “What’s the point of this now? Why were you so cruel to him? Leo was such a good boy. He trusted you, he adored you How could you not believe him? Why did you wait so long to go and get him? May- be.. maybe my Leo could have been saved
Even I thought it was cruel. To blame him now would only deepen his guilt. We were family, after all. It was only natural that he would feel guilty now that I was dead.
But I knew the guilt wouldn’t last forever. His real brother was still alive. Caleb hadn’t really lost anything. Soon, he would be back to his perfect, composed self.
I sat beside my mother, wrapping an intangible arm around her shoulders. Mom, I already lived so much longer than I was suppos- ed to. If it weren’t for you, my heart would have given out when I was just a child. I was so happy, just to be your son for a little while. Please, don’t be sad anymore.
After a moment, her sobs subsided. She opened my backpack and began to take things out, one by one.
My charger, a few toiletries, and several folded pieces of paper.
She unfolded them. They were medical reports, dated just a week ago. The small town hospital could only do an ultrasound. The results weren’t good. The doctor had recommended further testing.
A tear splattered onto the paper. “You were sick this whole time,” she wept. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“He did,” Caleb said, his gaze fixed on the floor. “He told me. I thought he was just playing pitiful to get my attention, so I yelled at him
Mom shook her head and pulled something else from my bag. A small sketchbook
She opened it to the first page. A small portrait of her. The lines were delicate, the colors simple. The next page was a drawing of Dad
I prayed she would stop turning the pages.
But she didn’t.
She found the drawings of Caleb.
I had drawn him so many times. Caleb at work. Caleb driving. Caleb carefully squeezing paint onto my palette.
Caleb. Gentle Cale
Serious Caleb. Gentle Caleb. Doting Caleb.
Lately, the image of the angry, severe Caleb had haunted me, but I never drew him, I didn’t like him that wa
way.
through this sketchbook. I’d remember the times when I mattered to him.
When I missed him but didn’t dare to call, I would flip through
And I’d tell myself: It’s okay. To have been cherished, even for a little while, was more than enough.
