I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.
“What do you mean, ‘worrying?’” I asked, my voice tight.
Mr.
Harrington sighed and looked at me with those tired, vulnerable eyes. “I drove to his house. Just to check if he was okay.
I didn’t plan on speaking to him. I just… needed to know.”
I held my breath, bracing myself for what was coming next.
“That’s when I saw it,” he continued. “I saw you and Carter standing in the yard, your things scattered everywhere.
I saw how he treated you.” His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands. “I knew then he wasn’t coming back. And I knew I had to step in.”
My heart twisted, torn between anger at the man who abandoned us and something resembling gratitude for the one who took us in.
Against my better judgment, I stayed. At first, I told myself it was just until I could get back on my feet. But as the days turned into weeks, I started to see Mr.
Harrington in a new light.
He baked cookies with Carter, helped him build a model spaceship for school, and even taught him how to ride a bike. He told Carter stories of his father as a boy—adventures, and mischief that made my little boy giggle.
For the first time in months, I felt like we had something we’d lost: family.
Still, the shadow of my ex lingered. I’d heard whispers through mutual friends that he’d fled town, broke and angry, leaving behind nothing but debt.
Part of me wanted closure, but a bigger part of me knew he’d made his choice.
One evening, as I tucked Carter into bed, he looked up at me with sleepy eyes. “Mom, do you think Grandpa’s lonely?”
I glanced toward the hallway, where Mr. Harrington sat in his armchair, staring at a photo of his late wife.
My throat tightened. “Maybe a little, sweetie. But I think we’re helping with that.”
From the doorway, Mr.
Harrington’s voice broke the quiet. “You’re doing more than you know.”
Source: amomama
