That was his mistake, and he didn’t try to dress it up as anything else.
My grandson handed the phone back to me.
He wasn’t ready to forgive him.
I respected that more than any quick reunion could have satisfied me.
The next morning, my son remembered something that changed the case again.
He was the administrator on the family’s doorbell camera account.
He had installed the system before his current assignment and rarely checked it unless a package disappeared. From his hotel room, he opened the stored footage from the previous evening.
At 6:11 p.m., the front door opened.
My grandson stepped outside in his sweatshirt.
My daughter-in-law stood behind him.
There was no audio for the first few seconds, but the camera caught her holding something dark in one hand.
His coat.
She pulled the door closed while he turned back toward her.
Nine minutes later, motion triggered another recording. My grandson was still on the porch, rubbing his hands together. He knocked.
