My boyfriend disappeared the night I told him I was pregnant. But when Grandpa finally looked into our baby’s eyes, his reaction made me wonder if Caleb’s disappearance had never been random at all.
The hospital faded in my rearview mirror while Nora slept beside me, finally going home after thirteen days in the NICU.
I thought the hardest part was over.
My daughter had Caleb’s dark curls, his cleft chin, and his eyes—one vivid blue, the other so dark it was almost black.
My parents had died when I was ten.
“Someone in the family must have them, too,” the discharge nurse had said.
“Her father,” I’d whispered.
I hadn’t spoken Caleb’s name aloud in months.
He had vanished the same night I told him I was pregnant.
No note.
No answered calls.
Nothing.
The worst part was that there had been no warning.
When I showed him the pregnancy test, Caleb stared at it for several seconds before looking at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
He took my hand. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
“You’re not scared?”
“Terrified.”
I laughed through my tears.