I became my grandson’s guardian when he was barely two years old.

“I’m eighteen now,” he explained. “I can decide where I live. And I want to live with you.”

I stared at him, trying to understand.

He smiled through tears.

“I rented us a house,” he said. “It has an elevator. No stairs. I remember how hard the steps were for you.”

I felt my knees weaken.

“How did you manage that?” I asked.

He shrugged lightly. “I saved every bit of allowance Mom gave me. Birthday money. Holiday money. I’ve been planning this for years.”

“For years?”