Caleb left an hour later, the baby’s soft cries echoing down the hallway. I stood by the door long after they were gone, feeling something I hadn’t felt in months — peace.
Six months passed. Then a letter arrived. It was from Caleb. Inside was a photo of him holding the baby in a sunlit park. Both were smiling. Beneath it, he had written only one line.
“Thank you for reminding me what love was supposed to mean.”
I never saw him again.
But sometimes, when the morning light hits the window just right, I remember that day at the hospital — the day I learned that revenge doesn’t always need a hand to deliver it.
Sometimes life does it for you.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
