That’s why, when the doorbell rang that morning, I thought it was Tara’s husband or one of the moms and tots from Evelyn’s preschool arriving early. I opened the door, still laughing at something Evelyn said about Duck giving a speech.
But it wasn’t a neighbor. It was Eliza.
My mother-in-law stood there, in a navy coat she probably hadn’t worn in years, holding a gift bag like she belonged to our household.
I didn’t say anything at first. Neither did she.
“Eliza,” I said finally, my voice sharper than I expected. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes flicked over me, then narrowed.
“He still hasn’t told you, has he? Norton?”
“Told me what?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she just stepped through the door like she had every right to.
“Eliza —” I started, but she was already past me.
I followed her into the living room, my heart pounding. Norton was sitting cross-legged on the rug, helping Evelyn arrange her stuffed animals yet again. When he looked up and saw his mother, I watched something drain from his face.
“Grandma!” Evelyn said, delighted.
Norton didn’t move.
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