Chapter 10 - The Sun over the Porch
Two weeks later.
The autumn leaves were turning bright shade of orange and gold over Grandma’s small white house on Oak Street.
It was a Saturday afternoon. The air was crisp and fresh, smelling of woodsmoke and apple cider.
I sat on the wide wooden porch steps wearing a warm red hoodie, watching Toby chase Buster through the green grass of the front yard. Toby was laughing—a real, loud, belly laugh that bounced off the trees—as Buster trotted slowly in circles, letting the little boy catch up to his tail.
Inside the house, I could hear Aunt Sarah and Grandma setting the kitchen table for dinner. The smell of roasted chicken and fresh biscuits drifted out through the open screen door.
A dark blue mail truck pulled up to the curb, its engine idling as the mail carrier dropped a stack of letters into our mailbox, gave a friendly wave, and drove off.
I walked down the porch steps, crossed the lawn, and pulled the mail out.
Most of it was catalog magazines and electric bills for Grandma. But tucked right in the middle was a plain white envelope addressed to me in sloppy, shaky handwriting I knew all too well.
RETURN ADDRESS: COUNTY REHABILITATION CENTER - UNIT B
TO: LEO STERLING
I stood by the mailbox for a long moment, holding the envelope in my hands.
Through the paper, I could feel the thin card inside. I didn't open it. I didn't feel angry anymore, but I didn't feel the need to read his excuses either.
I turned around and walked back up the porch steps.
Grandma was standing at the screen door, holding a tray of warm apple cider mugs. She looked down at the white envelope in my hand, then looked up into my eyes with a soft, understanding smile.
"Do you want to read it, Leo?" Grandma asked gently.
I looked at the envelope. Then I looked out across the yard, where Toby was hugging Buster’s thick neck, both of them tumbling happily into a pile of red leaves.
"No," I said softly.
I walked over to the small blue recycling bin sitting beside the porch steps and dropped the unopened letter inside.
"Maybe someday," I said, walking up the steps and taking a warm mug of cider from Grandma’s tray. "But not today."
Grandma reached out, her soft, warm hand gently smoothing the hair back from my forehead, covering the tiny faint scar near my hairline where the bruise had finally healed.
May you like
"Come inside, sweetheart," Grandma whispered, pulling the screen door open for me. "Dinner’s ready."
I took a sip of the sweet, warm cider, looked back one last time at the sunny yard where my brother was safe, and walked through the door into our home.
