I turned off the tap.
“As long as we have each other, we have everything we need.”
It was not an answer.
Even at six, Leo knew that.
But he also knew I would not say more.
I never told him I believed his mother had rejected him because of his disability.
I could not put that wound inside him.
As far as Leo knew, he was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me.
Because he was.
Raising him was not easy.
There were nights I cried after he fell asleep because I was terrified I was not enough.
There were mornings when he refused to get dressed.
There were afternoons spent in therapy rooms.
There were evenings when I tried to understand forms full of language no parent should have to learn alone.
Then there were the victories.
His first clear sentence.
His first day of school.
The first time he tied his own shoes.
The school play where he forgot his line, laughed, and improvised something so funny that the audience applauded.
If it had not been for our elderly neighbor, Johnson, I do not know how I would have survived.
She lived across the hall and had been there before Goldi and I moved into the building.
The morning after Goldi left, Johnson knocked on my door carrying soup.
She took one look at my face and said, “I can hear that baby crying all day and night. You need sleep.”
Before I could object, she lifted Leo from my arms with the confidence of someone who had raised four children.
From then on, she became part of our family.
