The next message arrived before either of us could decide what to do.
“I need to tell you in person.”
I stared at the screen.
Grandma shook her head.
“Don't let him control the timing.”
“I won't.”
“Then ask him.”
I typed.
“Tell me now.”
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then the message came.
“It concerns your grandmother's first year at the school.”
I looked up.
Grandma's expression had gone still.
“What?”
She didn't answer.
“You know what he's talking about.”
She looked away.
“Grandma.”
“I don't know what he thinks he knows.”
That wasn't an answer.
I stood.
“Then tell me.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I need to explain something.”
“Please do.”
She sat down again.
“When I first started working at your school, I wasn't hired as a janitor.”
I frowned.
“What were you hired as?”
“Temporary office assistant.”
That surprised me.
“What happened?”
“I needed money quickly.”
“And?”
She looked toward the window.
“The school was short-staffed.”
I waited.
“Your father knew someone on the school board.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because he had asked questions about you.”
I stared at her.
“You said he saw me when I was nine.”
“He did.”
“But he knew where I was before that.”
“Yes.”
“Because of the school?”
“Partly.”
I sat beside her.
“Tell me everything.”
She took a breath.
“When you were four, your father contacted the school.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to know whether you were doing well.”
“That sounds like he cared.”
“He did care.”
I felt anger rising again.
“Then why didn't he come?”
“Because caring and showing up aren't always the same thing.”
I looked down.
That was probably the hardest thing she had ever said about him.
She continued.
“He asked whether he could see you.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
I looked at her sharply.
“You refused?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to come secretly.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He didn't want you to know who he was.”
“Why?”
“He said he wasn't ready.”
I stood again.
“So he wanted to watch me without being my father?”
Grandma nodded.
“I wouldn't allow that.”
For the first time, I understood something important.
Grandma hadn't simply kept him away.
She had drawn a boundary.
“He was angry.”
“I'm sure.”
“He said I had no right.”
“Did you?”
She looked at me.
“No.”
I waited.
“But I told him that if he wanted to be in your life, he had to come honestly.”
“What did he do?”
“He disappeared again.”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, people were going about their ordinary lives.
Cars passed.
Someone walked a dog.
A child rode a bicycle.
My life had somehow continued while all these hidden decisions were being made around me.
“Then why did you become a janitor?”
Grandma smiled faintly.
“That part was practical.”
“Tell me.”
“The office position ended.”
“You could have found another job.”
“I did.”
“Then?”
“The hours were terrible.”
She looked at me.
“I couldn't leave you alone.”
“So you took the school job.”
“Yes.”
“Because you could be near me.”
“Yes.”
I sat again.
The cleaning cart suddenly seemed like something sacred.
She had pushed it through those hallways because it allowed her to work and still be close enough to know I was safe.
All those jokes.
All those insults.
Nobody knew.
I didn't even know.
My phone buzzed again.
My father had sent another message.
“I was the one who told the school where to find Doris when she was looking for work.”
I showed Grandma.
She stared.
“I didn't know that.”
“You didn't?”
“No.”
“Then why did he say it?”
“I don't know.”
Another message appeared.
“He wanted her hired because he knew you would be there.”
I felt a strange chill.
“He arranged your job?”
Grandma shook her head.
“He may have recommended me. He didn't arrange my life.”
I believed her.
But there was something else.
“Why would he do that?”
She didn't answer.
My phone rang.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the same unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
Then his voice.
“Daniel.”
I had never heard him speak before.
Not really.
The sound was unexpectedly ordinary.
A little rough.
A little hesitant.
“Why did you help Grandma get the job?”
“I wanted to be close to you.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Did you watch me?”
He exhaled.
“Sometimes.”
My stomach turned.
“From where?”
“Across the street. From the parking lot. Once from the library.”
I closed my eyes.
The memory of the man in the dark coat returned.
“You were there when I was nine.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you come over?”
“I was afraid you would look at me and know I had failed you.”
I said nothing.
His voice cracked.
“I thought watching was better than disappearing completely.”
“It wasn't.”
“I know.”
I looked at Grandma.
She had tears in her eyes.
I asked, “What's the last thing you never told her?”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Your mother asked me to make sure you received something.”
“The metal box?”
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“Then what?”
“A letter.”
“I already have her letter.”
“Not that one.”
I looked at Grandma.
She shook her head.
“I don't know what he's talking about.”
He continued.
“It was written after the first letter.”
“When?”
“The day before she died.”
I could barely breathe.
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Doris.”
Grandma stood.
“What?”
He said, “She promised me she would give it to Daniel when he was ready.”
Grandma's face drained of color.
She looked toward the wooden box.
“I don't have it.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“I watched you put it away.”
She ended the call.
I stared at her.
“What is he talking about?”
She didn't answer.
She walked to the cabinet.
Opened the drawer.
Removed the wooden box.
Then she turned it upside down.
Nothing fell out.
She opened every envelope.
Nothing.
She checked beneath the lining.
Still nothing.
Then she froze.
Her fingers touched the bottom of the box.
“There.”
She pulled at a thin piece of wood I had never noticed.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a folded letter.
My name was written across it.
Grandma stared at it.
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“I didn't forget.”
She handed it to me.
“I was afraid.”
I held the letter.
The handwriting was my mother's.
And this time, Grandma didn't ask me to wait.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Letter Grandma Hid Beneath the Box Explained Why She Had Been Afraid of the Day I Finally Asked About My Father
The Night I Chose the One Person Who Had Never Once Walked Away From Me
Part 10 of 20
