On the drive back, silence hung heavy. Nathan stared out the window, and Andrew gripped the wheel, trying to process what he’d heard. Helen hadn’t just left him memories. She’d left him a choice. And he didn’t know how to live with it.
When they got home, Nathan paused at the threshold, taking in the large windows and minimalist decor of the apartment. It all seemed like an alien world to him.
“It’s late,” Andrew said. “You can sleep in the same room.”
Nathan looked at him with an expression Andrew couldn’t decipher. “Am I staying here?”
“For now,” Andrew replied, frowning.
The boy looked down and clutched the photo tighter. “Mom… I mean, Helen, said you had a big house. But it’s always empty.”
Andrew flinched. “Empty.” It was true. And for the first time, he wondered if this house had grown cold after Helen’s death or if it had always been that way, and he’d just never noticed.
“Go rest,” he said softly.
Nathan nodded and shuffled to the room. Andrew stayed in the hallway, his chest heavy. He poured himself a shot of whiskey from a bottle in the cabinet and went to his study. There, on the desk, lay the file. He stared at it for a long time before opening it.
Inside were adoption papers, Helen’s letters, and records of her shelter visits. His fingers slid over the pages, anger mixing with sorrow. His wife had left him more than memories. She’d left him a final decision.
Andrew sat in his study, staring at the file before him. The whiskey glass was empty, the bottle half-gone. He’d spent the night rereading Helen’s letters, each word piercing him like a needle. In the dim light of the desk lamp, he saw her handwriting—neat, with slight curls, so familiar yet so foreign.
“Andrew, I know this will be a shock,” she wrote in one letter. “But Nathan needs a family. I tried to talk to you about it, but you were always busy. I don’t want him to grow up without love. I don’t want him to be alone in this world.”
“Busy.” That word echoed in her notes, a reproach, a reflection of their life together. Andrew pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to tame the storm of emotions. Helen had left Nathan as her final request, but how could he fulfill it when he didn’t know how to be a father? He looked up and gazed out the window—a gray winter morning was dawning over Willowbrook.
Quiet footsteps at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Nathan stood there, barefoot on the cold hardwood floor, still in yesterday’s rumpled clothes. He rubbed his eyes and said softly, “Morning.”
Andrew nodded, feeling hollow. “Sleep okay?”
“A little,” Nathan shrugged. “I’m not used to the quiet.”
Andrew pressed his lips together. The shelter must have been noisy—kids, shouts, chaos. Here, in his apartment, a dead silence reigned, one he’d once valued. Now it felt oppressive.
“You can stay here until I figure out what to do with you,” he said, not mincing words.
Nathan lowered his head and nodded slowly. He didn’t ask anything, but Andrew saw his thin shoulders tense. The boy understood his presence here was temporary. And he wasn’t going to beg to stay.
This silent compliance stirred an odd feeling in Andrew—part irritation, part shame. How do you explain to a kid that you just don’t know how to be around someone? The day passed in tense silence. Andrew took Nathan to a store in downtown Willowbrook to buy him new clothes—the old jacket and pants were in terrible shape. The boy didn’t ask for anything, didn’t choose, just took what Andrew handed him. It irritated Andrew more than he cared to admit.
The store buzzed with people—kids ran between racks, laughing, tugging at their parents’ sleeves, excited for new things. Nathan stood apart, as if he didn’t believe he had the right to choose. That thought lingered with Andrew all the way home.
That evening, as Nathan was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. It was his old friend and lawyer, Michael.
“Andrew, got some news about the kid,” he started cautiously.
“What?” Andrew tensed.
“A family wants to adopt him. The Harrisons. Wealthy folks, live in a big house outside town. They’re ready to take Nathan as early as tomorrow.”
Andrew felt a tightness in his chest. There it is, he thought. He’d wanted someone to take responsibility for the boy, to give him a home. But why did the idea leave a bitter taste in his mouth?
“I need to think about it,” he said finally and hung up.
He glanced at Nathan’s closed bedroom door. The boy didn’t know yet. And Andrew wasn’t sure how to tell him. The next morning, he woke with the same unease as the day before. Dressing, he tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to talk to Nathan about the Harrisons. But every time he started to find the words, something stopped him.
When he came down to the kitchen, Nathan was already at the table. A plate of scrambled eggs sat untouched in front of him, as if he wasn’t sure he could eat.
“Not hungry?” Andrew cleared his throat.
Nathan looked up cautiously. “I am.”
“Then eat,” Andrew said shortly.
The boy lowered his gaze and slowly picked up a fork. Andrew frowned. Since Nathan had arrived, he hadn’t asked for anything—not food, not explanations, not comfort. He just existed in this silence, and it grated on Andrew more than he could explain.
“We need to talk,” he said at last.
Nathan set the fork down sharply. “About what?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “There’s a family that wants to adopt you.”
The boy blinked slowly. His face remained blank. “Okay,” he said quietly.
Andrew felt a chill. “They’re a good family. They’ve got means, they’ll give you everything you need.”
“I get it,” Nathan replied, turning away.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Andrew frowned.
Nathan shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Andrew’s heart raced. “It’s not about choice. It’s what’s best for you.”
The boy nodded slowly. “If you say so…”
Andrew felt an emptiness in his gut. Deep down, he’d hoped Nathan would protest, argue, say he didn’t want to go. But the boy just accepted it, as if he was used to being left behind.
Andrew pressed his fingers to his temples, feeling a headache pulse. He stood abruptly from the table and said, “I need to step out. Stay here.”
Nathan nodded, not looking up. Andrew grabbed his coat and left the apartment quickly. The cold Willowbrook morning hit his face, but he barely noticed. Why did he feel so awful if he was doing the right thing? There was no answer.
The day passed in tense silence. Andrew avoided Nathan, locking himself in his study, diving into work—sorting papers, answering calls, checking emails. Not because there was much to do, but because he didn’t want to face his own doubts. The decision was made: Nathan would go to the Harrisons. It was best for everyone. Wasn’t it?
When dusk fell, Andrew left the study and saw Nathan in the hallway. The boy was sitting on the floor, staring into space. Something inside Andrew tightened.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, harsher than he meant.
Nathan slowly looked up. “Nothing,” he said quietly.
Andrew pressed his lips together. He didn’t understand this boy. Didn’t understand why he accepted everything without question. Why his silence was so infuriating.
“Get up,” he said, his voice rough.
Nathan stood obediently but didn’t move, just looked at Andrew with an odd expression. Then he asked quietly, “Why do you want to give me to another family?”
Andrew felt a pang in his chest. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Because it’s better for you.”
Nathan frowned—for the first time showing any emotion. “How do you know?”
Andrew tensed. “They’ve got money. They’ll give you a good life.”
The boy clenched his fists. “But I don’t want a family that just has money.”
Andrew flinched. “Nathan…”
“I just wanted to stay here,” the boy’s voice trembled.
Andrew swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to be around kids. I don’t know how to be a father.”
Nathan looked at him with boundless sadness. “I don’t need a perfect dad. I just need you not to leave me.”