The Invitation
I don’t know what made me say it. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the way he tried to leave without expecting anything in return.
“You can shower here,” I said. “Use the washer. Rest. No arguments.”
He hesitated — pride wrestling with exhaustion.
Then he nodded.
That was a year ago.
A Year Later
Caleb doesn’t sleep in his car anymore.
He rents the small room above my garage. Pays what he can. Fixes what I can’t. Studies certifications at the kitchen table where Alice used to roll pie dough.
He still works too hard. But now he laughs more.
Continue on the next page:
