Chapter 13 - Toby Goes Home
Twenty-six days after entering Saint Luke, Toby walked out.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Holding my hand.
Nurses lined the hallway.
Dr. Reeves hugged him.
Someone gave him a superhero cape.
Toby complained that superheroes didn’t use wheelchairs.
Dr. Reeves informed him superheroes listened to doctors.
He reluctantly accepted defeat.
Outside, the air smelled like rain.
Toby closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Smelling outside.”
I nearly cried.
Home was different.
We had changed the locks.
Installed security.
Moved Toby’s bedroom away from the street.
But I refused to turn our house into a fortress.
Fear had already taken enough.
That Saturday, I burned pancakes.
On purpose.
Toby accused me of lying about the “extra flavor.”
Isabelle laughed.
It was the first normal sound our kitchen had heard in weeks.
Recovery wasn’t perfect.
Toby had nightmares.
Sometimes he woke believing Jasper was holding his arms.
Sometimes he refused to walk near driveways.
We found him a trauma counselor.
I went too.
So did Isabelle.
Healing became something we did together.
Then a letter arrived.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Not threatening.
Old.
It showed Richard Beaumont as a young man standing beside Charles.
Behind them was my father.
I stared at it for a long time.
My father had died when I was seventeen.
Or so I believed.
On the back, someone had written:
May you like
YOUR FAMILY WAS PART OF THIS BEFORE YOU WERE BORN.
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