Building a Life for Two
My parents helped at first, but I never wanted them to carry my responsibilities forever. I took evening classes at a community college to train as a medical office assistant. During the day, I cared for Leo; at night, while my mother watched him, I went to class.
There were months when money was painfully tight. I learned to stretch one chicken into three meals, bought Leo’s clothes from thrift stores, and accepted hand‑me‑down toys from neighbors. But Leo never lacked love.
He grew into a curious, thoughtful child. He asked endless questions: Why is the sky blue? Can fish get thirsty? Where do people go after they die? Eventually, he asked the one I had been dreading: Why don’t I have a dad?
When he was five, I told him Andrew had gone away before he was born. When he was ten, I explained that I had tried to find him but couldn’t. When he was fourteen, I gave him Andrew’s full name and showed him the few photos I still had. I never called Andrew cruel, but I never made excuses for him either. “I don’t know why he left,” I told Leo. “I wish I did.”
For years, that was the only truth I had.
