My Little Neighbor Didn’t Let Anyone Into His Home Until a Police Officer Arrived and Stepped Inside

“Is… Grandma Helen weird?” he asked.

I felt something unclench inside me.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”

We settled into a routine.

I made breakfast.

He pretended to hate oatmeal and then scraped the bowl.

He went to school. I watched for him out the window like some cliché.

He came home, flung his backpack on a chair, and raided my fridge.

We did homework at the table.

“Did you have this kind of math?” he groaned once.

“No,” I said. “We just traded goats.”

He nearly choked laughing.

We watched movies.

He showed me superheroes. I showed him black-and-white films where people actually talked.

I taught him pie crust. He showed me how to use his tablet without breaking it.

The house stopped sounding like a tomb.

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