“Do other people live in there too?” he asked, staring up at the two-bedroom wood-frame house

with wide eyes.

“Just us, kiddo. You’ll have your own bedroom here. Mine is right across the hall from yours.”

“Whoa,” he said, his eyes shining with amazement. Even when we had lived with my aunt Cathy,

Micah and I had shared a room. Once we’d moved into an apartment, a studio was all I could afford

with day care costs. This house was only twelve hundred square feet, but it was the biggest living

space he and I had ever had all to ourselves. The studio apartment had been a third of this size.

“Let’s go see your new room. We might need to paint it. Not sure what color the walls are,” I told

him. The last time I’d been in my old bedroom, it had been pink. Micah was determined that pink was

for girls and wanted nothing to do with it.

From my purse I pulled out the key that my mother had mailed me along with the letter and the

deed to the house. I took a deep breath before unlocking the door. Stepping back, I motioned for

Micah to go inside. “Check it out.”

His grin spread across his face as he took off running into the house, whooping as he saw the size of

the living room. Then he turned and headed down the short hallway. I paused at the door, unable to

ignore the house across the street any longer, and turned around to look at it. I didn’t recognize the

truck in the driveway, but then again, it had been six years. I was sure the Falcos were still there.

Mother hadn’t mentioned that they’d moved.

I wondered if they would speak to Micah when he played in the yard. Or would they ignore him like

they had since his birth? I wouldn’t tell him who they were. I hadn’t told him about my parents. He

didn’t know this had once been my home. He didn’t know he had grandparents. In preschool he had

been asked to tell the class about his grandparents, and when he’d told them about Aunt Cathy, he had

called her Aunt Cathy. The kids in his class had teased him, telling him that his aunt wasn’t his

grandparent. He’d come home confused and upset that he didn’t know who his grandparents were.

I had just told him he didn’t have any.

When he’d asked about his father, I had explained that God had wanted his father because he was

such an awesome man, so he had brought him to heaven to live there with him before Micah was born.

That had been enough for Micah. He hadn’t asked any more questions. He was happy with the

knowledge that his mother loved him unconditionally and that we were a family. It had been hard for

him when he saw that other kids had large families, but once he’d understood that each family was

different, he was okay with that.

“Momma! Momma!” Micah called out in excitement. “There’s a blue room. It’s a really cool blue

room too! It’s even got toys in it already!”

Toys? I closed the front door behind me and headed down the hall. Stepping into the bedroom that

had once been mine, I stopped and looked around me in awe. It was blue. A bright, happy blue. It had a

full-size bed and a matching wooden dresser. There was a blue quilt on the bed with orange

basketballs all over it, and in the center sat a basketball-shaped pillow. A toy box under the window

was open, with pirate swords, a baseball bat and glove, a large red fire truck, and what looked like a

big bag of Legos sticking out of it. An indoor basketball hoop sat in the opposite corner, with a ball

lying on the floor beside it.

Above his bed was painted MICAH.

“Do you think the people who used to live here left it for me? Or do we gotta give it back?” he

asked, a hopeful expression on his face. “And look, Momma, my name is already on the wall.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I had to swallow hard as I stood there taking in the room. I didn’t know

what to think. This was not what I had expected, but then again, I hadn’t expected to be given this

house, either. A white envelope caught my attention. It was leaning against the wall on top of the

dresser, with my name and Micah’s name written on it.

Walking over to it, I wiped at the tear that had escaped, and I tried to hide my face from my very

observant five-year-old. The envelope was sealed, so I slid my finger underneath and opened it up.

Sienna,

This is your home now. It doesn’t make up for the past or for the years I wasn’t there when you

needed me. But it is all I have to give you. I don’t expect to buy your forgiveness. This room is as

much for me as it is for Micah. I’ve always wanted to buy him things. Christmas presents and

birthday presents and gifts just because he is my grandson. I couldn’t do that, though. Not while I

lived with your father.

I won’t speak ill of your father—that is not what this is about. I loved him. He was a good man, but

he was a proud man and I had to respect that. I believe in my heart that if he had it to do over, he

would have done things differently. I hate that he never got to meet our grandson.

Please tell Micah that the room is his with love from someone who hopes she can meet him one day.

When you are ready, of course. If you are ever ready. I just ask that you can find it in your heart to

forgive me. I want to be a part of your lives.

My address and phone number are listed below. If you want to send me a letter or give me a call, I

would love that. Or maybe send me some photos of Micah. I have a photo album full thanks to your

aunt Cathy. He’s a beautiful one, but then, so is his mother.

Love always,

Mom

“Momma, why’re you crying?” Micah asked as he tugged on the bottom of my shorts.

I folded the letter and tucked it in my back pocket before bending down and looking at him.

He reached out and wiped my face with his little hands. “It’s okay if we can’t stay here. Just so I’m

with you,” he said. The sadness in his eyes hurt my heart.

This house was too good for him to believe. I grabbed his hands and squeezed them tightly. “This is

our home. The person who gave it to us did all this just for you. These are happy tears, not sad ones,” I

told him. I wasn’t ready to explain about his grandmother. I didn’t know how I felt about introducing

him to her. There was too much pain for me to deal with right now. But her words and this room

meant a lot. It didn’t make up for her abandonment, but knowing she loved Micah enough to do this

did help me consider letting her into our life.

“So I get to keep this? All of it?” he asked, looking around at the room again, his eyes wide with

wonder. We had even shared a bed up until now.

“Yes. All of this is yours. Just yours. You have your own space now. Your own bed. Even your own

closet.”

Micah walked over to his bed and ran his little hand over the quilt. He knew what a basketball was.

I had bought him one with my first paycheck. It was a part of his father I wanted him to have. “Did the

person who did this for me know my daddy was the best basketball player in the world?” he asked,

glancing back at me.

I nodded, biting back a smile.

“We’re gonna be happy here, Momma,” he said, then turned to go back to his toy box. I watched

him for a few minutes I watched him as he dug through the things my mother had left him. Then I

slipped out of the room to check out the rest of the house.

In the letter she’d sent with the house key and the deed, she’d told me she was leaving the furniture

behind. The place where she was living now was furnished. I wasn’t sure how I felt about sleeping on

my parents’ bed, but all I’d had was a mattress, and we’d left that behind in Texas.

Opening the door to the master bedroom, I froze before relief washed over me. It was my old bed,