“Mom, is he my grandpa?”
Mr. Harrington sat heavily in the worn leather armchair in the corner of the room, his face lined with grief and regret as he began to tell me his story. “My son…” Mr.
Harrington began, his voice thick. “Carter’s father… he was always difficult. From the time he was a teenager, he didn’t care about school or responsibility.
He’d disappear for months, come back when he needed money, and vanish again the moment he had it. We did everything we could to help him find his way, but he refused.”
I stared at him, my thoughts racing. My boyfriend—the man who had thrown us out like trash—had never once mentioned a father.
Let alone one who was alive. “Why didn’t I know about you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “Why didn’t he tell me?
Why didn’t you—”
Mr. Harrington raised a hand. “Six years ago, his mother died.” His voice cracked.
“I begged him to come to the funeral. To say goodbye. He didn’t show up.
Not a call, not a letter. Nothing.”
My chest tightened. The man I’d loved, had been this heartless?
“After that,” Mr. Harrington continued, “I cut him off. No more money.
I told him, ‘If you need to talk, I’ll be here. But don’t come around if all you want is cash.’” He sighed. “You can guess what happened next.”
“He cut ties?” I asked.
“Not just that,” Mr. Harrington said grimly. “He robbed me.
Came into this house and took what he could carry. Jewelry. Cash.
He left me with nothing but memories of what we once were. That’s why I installed the cameras.”
I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Everything was starting to make sense—the cameras, the hidden room, even the arguments my boyfriend and I had begun having when he suddenly had no money.
“This… this can’t be real,” I murmured, but deep down, I knew it was. Mr. Harrington looked at Carter, his expression softening.
“I didn’t know about him,” he said quietly. “If I had… things might’ve been different.”
Carter tugged on my sleeve, his voice small. “Mom, why didn’t Daddy tell us about Grandpa?”
Mr.
Harrington leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly as he spoke. “I wasn’t trying to meddle,” he said. “I just… I missed my son.
Even after everything, I couldn’t stop worrying about him.”
I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “What do you mean, ‘worrying?’” I asked, my voice tight. Mr.
Harrington sighed and looked at me with those tired, vulnerable eyes. “I drove to his house. Just to check if he was okay.
I didn’t plan on speaking to him. I just… needed to know.”
I held my breath, bracing myself for what was coming next. “That’s when I saw it,” he continued.
“I saw you and Carter standing in the yard, your things scattered everywhere. I saw how he treated you.” His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands. “I knew then he wasn’t coming back.
And I knew I had to step in.”
My heart twisted, torn between anger at the man who abandoned us and something resembling gratitude for the one who took us in. Against my better judgment, I stayed. At first, I told myself it was just until I could get back on my feet.
But as the days turned into weeks, I started to see Mr. Harrington in a new light. He baked cookies with Carter, helped him build a model spaceship for school, and even taught him how to ride a bike.
He told Carter stories of his father as a boy—adventures, and mischief that made my little boy giggle. For the first time in months, I felt like we had something we’d lost: family. Still, the shadow of my ex lingered.
I’d heard whispers through mutual friends that he’d fled town, broke and angry, leaving behind nothing but debt. Part of me wanted closure, but a bigger part of me knew he’d made his choice. One evening, as I tucked Carter into bed, he looked up at me with sleepy eyes.
“Mom, do you think Grandpa’s lonely?”
I glanced toward the hallway, where Mr. Harrington sat in his armchair, staring at a photo of his late wife. My throat tightened.
“Maybe a little, sweetie. But I think we’re helping with that.”
From the doorway, Mr. Harrington’s voice broke the quiet.
“You’re doing more than you know.”
Source: amomama
