Chapter 7 - The Unassembled CribTwo weeks before Elena’s due date, she arrived home from an afternoon clinic checkup to find a wooden bench resting on her front porch.
It was crafted from reclaimed white oak, smooth to the touch, oiled with natural beeswax. Burned discreetly on the underside was a small inscription: “A place to rest.”
Next to the bench stood a single envelope with no stamp. Elena sat down slowly, breathing through a Braxton Hicks contraction, and broke the seal.
“Elena,
I don’t ask for an audience, and I don't ask you to forgive the years I spent asleep. I only want you to know that the crib is assembled. I took it out of the box in the apartment, drove it here, and gave it to the local children’s shelter in Kingston. Then I built one myself from pine boards, with no sharp edges and no shortcuts. It is stored at the woodshop down the road. If you need it, it is yours. If you prefer to buy your own, I will understand.
You were right: I left long before you did. I am trying to walk the whole road back, however long the distance may be.
May you like
— J.”
Elena folded the paper against her heart, looking out across the quiet meadow as evening shadows lengthened.
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