Preston POV
When Caleb left, I didn't know how to feel. At first, I thought maybe he'd come back the next day or the day after that. But he didn't. I waited at the window every night, staring at the street, hoping to see him walking toward me with that big smile he always had. But he never came.
I couldn't eat. Food tasted funny, and my stomach always felt tight, like it didn't want anything in it. Mother Charity noticed, of course. She's like that—always paying attention to things. She sat beside me during lunch one day and said, "Preston, Caleb would be so upset if he saw you like this." Her voice was soft, like she didn't want to make me cry, but it just made me feel worse.
"I'm not hungry," I whispered.
She sighed and patted my hand. "You don't have to be hungry, but you do have to be strong."
Strong. That's what Caleb always said, too. But how was I supposed to be strong when it felt like half of me was missing?
At night, I couldn't sleep. I'd lie there with Caleb's picture under my pillow, staring at the ceiling. I'd think about all the times he used to sit by my bed and tell me stories about his day, or make funny faces until I laughed. Now, my room was quiet and cold, and I hated it.
Sometimes, I'd cry so much my pillow would get wet, and I'd have to flip it over. I'd whisper into the dark, "Why did you leave, Cay? Don't you miss me like I miss you?" But no one answered.
Mother Charity would come in sometimes and sit on my bed. She'd stroke my hair, just like Caleb used to, and say, "You're not alone, Preston. Caleb wouldn't want you to feel like this."
But it didn't help. Nothing did.
School wasn't much better. I used to like school when Caleb was around because he'd help me with my homework, and I'd want to show him what I learned. But now, it felt pointless. I didn't care about math or reading. I just wanted Caleb.
That's when I met Annabel. She was new in class and sat beside me. She had bright brown eyes and always seemed like she knew everything.
One day, I was staring at my notebook, not even trying to do the math problems on the board, when she leaned over and said, "You know, if you don't do it, the teacher's gonna call on you."
I shrugged. "I don't care."
"Well, I do." She grabbed my pencil and started writing. "Here, like this. You carry the number, see?"
I blinked at her. "Why are you helping me?"
She smiled like it was obvious. "Because you look like you need it. And besides, I'm really good at math."
That made me laugh a little. She was right—she was good at it. And from that day on, Annabel became my friend.
She wasn't like Caleb—no one could be—but she made things a little easier. When the boys at school teased me for being quiet or sitting alone, she'd stand up for me. "Leave him alone!" she'd shout, standing with her hands on her hips. "He's smarter than all of you put together!"
At lunch, she'd sit with me and tell me stories about her family and the things she used to do before she came to our school. I didn't tell her much about Caleb—I didn't want to—but she didn't push.
Annabel even helped me with my homework. She'd come over after school sometimes, and we'd sit in the orphanage library. She was patient, even when I got things wrong a hundred times. "You'll get it," she'd say. "You're not as bad as you think, Preston."
I wasn't sure if that was true, but it felt nice to hear.
But even with Annabel, the nights were still the worst. Every evening, I'd sit by the window, hoping to see Caleb's face. The longer I waited, the heavier my chest felt. I'd crawl into bed with his picture frame and cry into my pillow.
I missed him so much it hurt.
Some nights, I'd close my eyes and imagine what he might be doing. Was he eating okay? Did he ever think about me? Did he miss me, too?
I wanted to be strong like he told me to, but it was hard. I felt like I was stuck in this big, empty space where nothing made sense.