ten years, it was just the two of us.
Lucas grew into a curious, sweet boy who loved baseball, Sunday pancakes, and one question I could never answer.
“Grandma, who was my dad?”
“I don’t know.”
And now I had a letter from Teagan in my coat pocket.
For the first time, I was afraid that the truth might be worse than not knowing.
When we got home, I slipped the envelope into a kitchen drawer.
Lucas dropped his backpack beside the table.
“Who was that woman?”
“Someone who knew