Chapter 7 - The Uncle and the Cradle
It took Caleb three days to speak a full sentence without flinching.
The trauma of what the Whitlock family had put him through was etched deeply into the lines of his face and the permanent tremor in his hands. I didn't push him for answers. I simply gave him the spare room overlooking the ocean, cooked warm meals, and let the quiet rhythm of the house do its work.
On the fourth afternoon, he finally walked into the yellow nursery.
I was sitting in the rocking chair, nursing Aaron.
Caleb leaned against the doorframe, watching us with a profound, heavy silence.
"He is incredibly small,"
Caleb whispered, his voice hoarse.
"He gets bigger every day,"
I smiled gently, adjusting the blanket over Aaron’s shoulder.
"Do you want to hold him?"
Caleb instantly took a step back, his eyes widening in panic.
"No. No, I can't. My hands... I might drop him. I'm broken, Hannah."
"You are not broken, Caleb,"
I replied firmly, standing up from the chair.
I walked over to my brother and gently, but deliberately, placed the sleeping infant directly into his arms.
Caleb froze completely. He looked down at the tiny, perfect face of his nephew. The violent trembling in his hands miraculously slowed, then stopped entirely as he instinctively cradled the baby against his chest.
A single tear slipped down Caleb’s scarred cheek.
May you like
"He looks like peace,"
Caleb murmured.
