PART 1 — THE EYES

My grandpa was the only father I ever really knew.

My parents died in a car accident when I was ten years old.

After that, Walter Marsh became everything.

Grandfather.

Guardian.

Emergency contact.

The person who packed my lunches badly enough that I learned to do it myself by eleven.

The man who sat through parent-teacher conferences even though he hated small chairs.

The one waiting in the driveway when I came home too late from my first date.

He never remarried.

Never complained.

Never once made me feel like raising me had ruined whatever plans he might have had for the second half of his life.

So when I became pregnant at twenty-seven and the man I loved disappeared the same night I told him, Grandpa was the person who kept me standing.

He had never met Caleb.

That was partly my fault.

Caleb and I had been together almost two years, but every time Grandpa suggested dinner, I postponed it.

Caleb traveled for work.

Grandpa had appointments.