I stopped.
She must have read the name off the mail on my table.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
I dug through the closet and found a small pair of pajamas that had belonged to my grandson.
I had bought them for a visit that never quite happened.
She must have read the name off the mail on my table.
I barely knew that child.
His name was Owen.
I could count the times I’d held him on one hand.
Elena carried her son into the guest room, and within minutes he was asleep.
« He hasn’t slept in a real bed in a while, » she said softly from the doorway. « I couldn’t give up. Not with him depending on me. »
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