Chapter 2: The Girl Who Wasn't Wanted

My brother has been autistic since he was little. Our parents got the official diagnosis before I could even recite my ABCs, and it changed the whole dynamic at home. Since my parents couldn’t handle two kids, they sent me—barely out of diapers—to live with my grandma in rural Ohio.

Grandma’s place was a weathered farmhouse, wind chimes on the porch and a yard full of dandelions. That separation lasted seven years. My childhood memories are a patchwork of Sunday casseroles, chasing barn cats, and learning to ride a bike on gravel roads. The air always smelled like cut grass and baking bread, and sometimes I’d wake up to the creak of the old windmill outside. Except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, we hardly ever saw each other. It wasn’t until I was old enough for elementary school that they brought me home.

The day I came back, I immediately saw a thin boy standing at the door. He looked about eleven or twelve, brown hair neatly combed, skin a bit pale, features delicate—only his dark eyes seemed a little empty. He gripped the doorframe, standing there uneasily, peeking at me timidly. I noticed his socks didn’t match—one with faded blue stripes, one plain white. It made him seem even smaller, like he was bracing for a gust of wind that might sweep him away.

Mom held my hand, paused when she saw him, and introduced us: “Natalie, this is your brother, Caleb. Go on, say hi to your brother.” I pressed my lips together, feeling my palms sweat the way they did before spelling bees at school. I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet when suddenly a flood of glowing subtitles flashed before my eyes:

[Here we go, the supporting female character is about to start fighting for attention!]

[Ugh, the main guy is already so miserable, and now he’ll be bullied by his bratty sister!]

[I can’t even watch—didn’t she say at their first meeting, ‘I don’t want to call an autistic brother,’ and totally traumatize the main character?]

[…]

The ghostly comments swirled, crowding my thoughts like pop-up ads on an old PC. But nobody expected what happened next. Facing the boy’s faintly hopeful eyes, I smiled and sweetly said, “Hi, Caleb.”

The moment the words left my mouth, his eyes instantly lit up. The tiniest, shyest smile flickered on his face, and I swear I saw his grip on the doorframe loosen just a bit.