Chapter 15 - Leo sees sunlight
Hospital discharged Leo after twelve days.
Not fully recovered.
Nutrition plan.
Physical therapy.
Ophthalmology follow-up for light sensitivity.
Vitamin deficiencies treated.
No magical return to normal.
Where live?
Carter House?
He refused.
Understandable.
We rented a quiet furnished home near pediatric specialists.
Security discreet.
No walls with hidden passages.
Leo chose bedroom with two windows.
First night he slept with door open.
Then woke screaming because hallway light had turned off automatically.
We disabled timer.
He wanted lights on.
Then sunlight.
He could tolerate short periods with sunglasses.
One morning he stood on patio for six minutes.
Then went inside.
No speech.
No dramatic embrace.
Progress.
He asked:
“Did you stop looking?”
I sat beside him.
“No.”
“For five years?”
“Not every day with search teams. But I never stopped trying to learn.”
“Court said I was dead.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“You signed?”
“I agreed to the legal process eventually.”
“So you stopped.”
“No.”
“But you signed.”
There are questions parents cannot answer without hurting children.
“I signed because lawyers told me the declaration was needed to handle certain legal matters after years without evidence. I hated it.”
He looked at me.
“Clara said you buried me.”
We had held a memorial.
Empty coffin.
He had somehow learned.
“I buried an empty coffin.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know what else to do.”
He nodded.
Not forgiveness.
Information.
Then:
“I heard you once.”
“What?”
“Talking in house.”
My throat closed.
“I screamed.”
I could not answer.
He looked away.
“You didn’t hear.”
May you like
“No.”
That was worse than accusation.
