When plates were cleared, Caleb lifted his glass. His voice shook as he said, “To Dad.” I raised mine and answered, “To our boy.” Nobody laughed or cried. We sat there, letting the silence settle. Caleb helped me carry Walter’s recipe card to the car.
Before we parted, he asked if we could have dinner, somewhere without expectations. I said yes, but slowly. Seven years could not disappear, but that night gave us a beginning.
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