For a second, I thought he was joking.
I actually laughed.
Just once.
A short, confused laugh.
“Why would you know where we lived?”
Walter didn’t smile.
“Because I was looking for you.”
My husband slowly turned toward me.
I felt the room change.
“Looking for me?”
Walter nodded.
“I didn’t know whether I would ever find you.”
I stared at him.
“Who are you?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“My name is Walter Hayes.”
“I know your name.”
He took a breath.
“But I’m not only your neighbor.”
He reached into the folder.
His hands were shaking.
“I am your grandfather.”
I didn’t understand the sentence.
I heard the words.
I knew what they meant.
But my mind refused to put them together.
“No.”
Walter closed his eyes.
“Abby…”
“No.”
I pushed my chair backward.
“You can’t just walk into my house and say something like that.”
“I know.”
“You’re my neighbor.”
“I know.”
“You’re eighty-eight years old.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been eating dinner with my family for two years.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re telling me you’re my grandfather?”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
I stood there staring at him.
Then I noticed something on the table.
The adoption papers.
The papers we had prepared for him.
