Not quite crying.
Not quite anything else.
“He came home that morning,” Caroline continued. “He unpacked the truck before you woke up. Thanked your aunt for being there with you. Then he crawled beneath the kitchen table and promised you he would never leave.”
I covered my mouth with both hands.
That promise had shaped nearly everything I believed about my childhood.
For my whole life, I had imagined Frank making it without doubt.
I thought he stayed because I was the one who needed him.
“He almost left me,” I said between uneven breaths.
“Yes.”
Caroline did not try to make the truth gentler.
“But he turned back,” she murmured.
“Why hide it?”
“Because he never wanted you to believe you were responsible for keeping him alive, dear.” Tears filled her eyes. “He knew what it was like to be a child carrying an adult’s grief. He refused to put that weight on you.”
