My boyfriend disappeared the night I told him I was pregnant. But when Grandpa finally saw our baby’s eyes, his reaction made me wonder if his disappearance wasn’t random.
The hospital disappeared in my rearview mirror as Nora slept beside me, finally coming home after thirteen days in the NICU. I thought the worst was behind us.
My daughter had Caleb’s dark curls, his cleft chin, and his eyes – one bright blue, the other nearly black.
My parents 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 said his name out loud in months.
Caleb had disappeared the same night I told him about the pregnancy.
No note, no answered calls, nothing. ʼ
The worst part was that nothing about that night had warned me.
“Terrified.”
When I showed him the test, Caleb had 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.
Half his closet was empty.
He kissed my forehead before he left and told me he’d call in the morning.
He didn’t.
By noon, my messages were unread.
By evening, his phone went straight to voicemail.