The Man Next Door Wasn’t Just My Children’s Grandpa

For two years, our elderly neighbor had eaten at our table, helped my children with their homework, fixed their bicycles, and answered whenever they called him “Grandpa.”

So when my husband and I decided to make that relationship official, I thought I was about to give an old man the greatest birthday gift of his life.

Instead, Walter looked at the adoption papers and went completely pale.

Not surprised.

Not touched.

Afraid.

He stared at the folder as though it contained something he had spent decades trying to bury.

Then he slowly placed both hands on the table.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

I smiled nervously.

“Walter, you don’t have to say anything right now. We can talk about the paperwork later.”

“No.”

His voice was so quiet that everyone stopped talking.

My husband looked at him.

“What is it?”

Walter didn’t answer.

He looked past us toward the five children crowded around the birthday cake.

My youngest had frosting on his cheek.

My daughter was trying to steal a strawberry from her brother’s plate.

The two older boys were arguing over who had blown out the candles first.