PART 19 – The Next Morning Kevin Called Me Before Breakfast, and His First Question Reminded Me of the Four Years I Thought I Had Lost

I woke early the following morning.

For a moment, I thought I had dreamed the previous day.

Then I saw the flowers on the kitchen table.

The little bouquet.

The bent stem.

The paper wrapping folded beside the glass.

I smiled.

Kevin had gone back to his college accommodation after dinner.

He had promised to call.

I hadn't wanted to ask him when.

I was learning not to turn every conversation into a promise he might feel pressured to keep.

I made coffee.

Then I sat at the kitchen table.

My phone was beside me.

I looked at it.

Then I looked away.

A few minutes later, it rang.

Kevin.

I answered.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Good morning, Grandma."

I smiled.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

There was a short pause.

Then he asked something that made me laugh.

"How long do I cook eggs again?"

I covered my mouth.

"Kevin!"

He laughed.

"I know. I should remember."

"You've been asking me that for years."

"I know."

I heard him moving something in the background.

Then he said he was making breakfast.

We talked while he prepared it.

He told me he had been thinking about the ceremony.

I told him I had been thinking about it too.

He asked whether I had looked at the photographs.

I told him I wanted to print the best one.

He agreed.

Then his voice became quieter.

"Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking about the letter."

I sat down more comfortably.

"All right."

"I don't want it to become something we never discuss."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.

"It won't."

"I want to know more about my parents."

"I'll tell you everything I remember."

He paused.

"Even the difficult things?"

I took a breath.

"Even those."

He thanked me.

Then we talked about ordinary things again.

He told me about a friend who had congratulated him.

I told him the flowers were still looking nice.

He laughed.

"Did you fix the bent one?"

"Of course."

"Good."

After we hung up, I sat quietly.

The phone was still warm in my hand.

I thought about the month when he had stopped answering.

I remembered how I had waited.

How I had checked the screen.

How I had wondered whether the next call would ever come.

I couldn't erase that time.

But I no longer wanted to live inside it.

Over the next few days, Kevin called regularly.

Sometimes we spoke for a long time.

Sometimes he only wanted to ask something small.

I didn't demand explanations for every missed call.

I didn't ask him to promise that he would never be angry again.

I let our conversations become ordinary.

That was what I wanted.

One afternoon, he asked me to help him find the photograph of his parents beside the old car.

I found it in the wooden box.

I placed it in a small protective sleeve.

Then I put it aside for him.

When he came over, we sat at the kitchen table.

He looked at the photograph.

Then he asked me about the day it had been taken.

I told him what I remembered.

He listened.

There were moments when he asked questions I couldn't answer.

I didn't pretend otherwise.

Some things were lost with time.

But I told him what I knew.

He seemed grateful for that.

Before leaving, he looked at the old blue blanket.

He smiled.

"Keep this one, Grandma."

I nodded.

"I wasn't planning to throw it away."

He hugged me.

Then he left.

I watched him walk toward his car.

This time, I didn't feel abandoned when the door closed.

I knew he would call.

And when he did, I would answer.

Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Twenty Years After I Hid One Letter, I Finally Understood That Loving Kevin Meant Trusting Him With the Truth and Letting Him Choose His Own Future