He told my grandmother that his new wife was pregnant and that the family couldn’t afford another burden, so he wouldn’t be
taking me back
He left behind sixty dollars in a hurry and walked away.
Not once did he hold me. Not even for a second.
From that day on, my father barely returned home.
I was left behind in the old town, growing up with my grandmother, who made a living collecting scrap.
She pitied me and doted on me as much as she could.
But no matter how much love she gave me, every time I saw other kids walking hand in hand with their parents, the sadness.
would creep in.
I still cried in secret.
And whenever that happened, Noah would always appear out of nowhere, covered in dirt like a wild little monkey.
Sometimes, he would shove a handful of wild berries into my palm.
Other times, he’d hand me a fish he caught from the river.
Ruffling my hair, he’d puff up his tiny chest and say, “Don’t be scared, Chloe. As long as I have food, you won’t go hungry. They don’t care about you, but I will.”
Noah was the one who got me through my childhood.
By evening, the golden glow of the setting sun stretched over the riverbank
much
I sat on a smooth stone, resting my chin in my hands as I watched Noah, now a six–foot–three grown man, wading through the water, trying to catch fish.
He was still dressed in his black button–down and tailored slacks.
The expensive fabric was rolled up to his knees, and he held a fishing net borrowed from one of the locals.
He looked completely ridiculous.
