Caleb had actually hesitated that day, I remembered later. Some instinct telling him to push back a little harder than he did. Deloris had simply repeated herself more firmly. And he’d relented the way he always relented with her, choosing peace over persistence. It felt, at the time, like an act of genuine love. Looking back, I’ve wondered how much of it was ever really about us at all.
“Just let me co-sign,” she said. “It’ll make the bank happy. Temporary. Until you two get on your feet.”
Caleb agreed without hesitating. I agreed too, eight months pregnant with Dahlia, exhausted. Trusting my husband to understand paperwork I barely had the energy to read that closely.
We signed at a small table in a lawyer’s office. Deloris beaming the whole time like she’d just handed us the moon.
I remember the lawyer’s office smelled like burnt coffee. And I remember being far more focused on the swelling in my ankles than on the stack of pages Caleb slid across the table for my signature. Deloris kept patting my shoulder throughout the appointment, telling me not to worry about the details. That Caleb had it handled. That all I needed to do was sign where the little arrows pointed. I signed where the little arrows pointed.
