“Another letter?”
“The college one.”
He frowned.
“What college one?”
For once, he had not already discovered the secret.
I almost laughed.
“There was a chance for me to defer my scholarship when you were a baby.”
His eyes widened.
“You could have gone to school?”
“Maybe.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“No.”
He looked at Grandma.
Then Grandpa.
Then me.
His mind was already racing.
I knew the look.
“Stop,” I said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re calculating alternate timelines.”
He closed his mouth.
Because that was exactly what he was doing.
“There is something important I need you to understand,” I said.
He sat beside me.
“I did not miss school because of you.”
“But—”
“No.”
He waited.
“I missed one path. That is different.”
He looked unconvinced.
“You were a baby. You didn’t decide anything. Adults made choices around you. I made choices too.”
