Page 5 of Wrangled Love

It’s challenging to guess what he’s thinking or feeling, but I know I have to be patient and let him open up in his own time. I blow out a soft breath. It’s only been a few hours, and I already feel like I’m failing. I got in touch with Julie on the plane ride home, butwhat to do if Caleb doesn’t want to change into his pj’swasn’t one of the endless questions that I asked.

This confirms that I’m completely out of my depth. The truth is, I have no idea what to do next. I’ve never spent much time around young kids—especially not one coping with the loss of his mom.

Caleb looks exhausted—his eyes are half-closed, and he’s barely standing. If letting him sleep in his clothes means there’s a chance he’ll get some rest, then that’s what we’ll do.

“Why don’t we skip pajamas and brushing teeth tonight?” I suggest, putting the pj’s in the top dresser drawer. “How about we read a book instead?”

I pull a picture book with a coconut tree on the cover from his bag—one that I saw earlier calledChicka Chicka Boom Boom.

Caleb rubs his eyes, and his grip loosens on his dinosaur. I feel a pang of relief when he gives me a slight nod.

I offer him a reassuring smile. “Hop into bed, and we’ll start the story.”

He shuffles across the room, climbs onto the mattress, and settles under the covers on the side closest to me.

I move the leather chair as close to the bed as possible before taking a seat. Caleb lays his head on the pillow, turning toward me, and his curious gaze studies me.

My throat tightens as I open the book with shaky hands, holding it out so he can see the pictures. I’ve never read a bookto a child before, and I realize just how important this moment is. After everything he’s endured, if there’s a chance to give him even a few minutes of peace, I’ll give it my all. So I put my energy into reading, wanting to make it as entertaining as possible.

A few pages into the book when D, E, and F tumble out of the tree, I pretend to wince. “Oof! D is going to need a giant bandage. Maybe even a whole box of dinosaur ones,” I exclaim.

Caleb steals a glance my way, and the sadness in his eyes doesn’t seem quite so heavy.

The social worker said it might take a while for him to warm up to me, and that’s okay. Seeing him interested in the story is a small victory worth celebrating.

When we get to the part where the whole alphabet falls from the tree, I lean over, tapping the nightstand gently with a softthud-thud-thudto mimic their fall.

“Oh no,” I gasp in mock horror. “Those poor little letters.”

Caleb rubs his eyes again, holding his dinosaur close to his chest. I soften my tone and read the last few pages in a hushed voice, letting the story wind down with him.

By the time we reach the final page—where A sneaks out of bed to climb the coconut tree again—Caleb has fallen asleep. I set the book on the nightstand and lean over the bed, pulling the covers around his shoulders.

My hand hovers over his head, and I gently push his hair back. He’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and my heart swells with a fierce protectiveness.

“Don’t worry, bud,” I whisper. “You’ve got me now, and we’ll figure this out together.”

This past week has tested me in ways no one could’ve prepared me for. After the first night, Caleb withdrew, barely acknowledgingme let alone willing to speak. Even getting him to respond with a simple nod or shake of his head has been a struggle.

He’s in bed for the night, and I should be catching up on work, but I haven’t managed more than staring blankly at the computer.

I grab my phone and call Julie. We spoke the night I brought Caleb home, and she shared advice to help him settle in. Now I’m hoping she has more to offer because I’m completely overwhelmed and could use her guidance.

“Hi, Jensen,” she answers cheerfully. “How are you and Caleb holding up? I was starting to worry since I hadn’t heard from you much except for a few texts.”

I run a hand through my hair. “It’s been rough. He’s barely left his room since we got to my place. He’s ignored the cartoons I’ve put on for him and steers clear of the toys and stack of kids’ books I picked out, unless he thinks I’m not watching.” I get out of my chair, pacing my office. “Hell, I haven’t even been able to get him to show me what food he likes besides grilled cheese. I’ve had to order from several different places for every meal, paying close attention to what he eats and what goes untouched.” I sigh in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Jensen,” Julie says, her tone soft. “How is his therapy going?”

“The therapist has come over twice.” I’ve had her come to the apartment because I was worried about taking Caleb to another unfamiliar place so soon. “I asked if it might be helpful to start teaching him sign language or give him a tablet with a communication app, but she said to give him more time to adjust.”

She reminded me that grief doesn’t follow a schedule and said introducing other forms of communication too soon could overwhelm Caleb or make him feel pressured. Which could actually delay his comfort in speaking again, and that’s the last thing I want.

“That makes sense. It sounds like you’re doing the best youcan to make him comfortable given the circumstances, and like the therapist said, it’ll just take a little time,” Julie reassures me.

“The therapist also recommended that he spend time with other kids. Even if he only watches at first.” I stand at my window overlooking Central Park. “She thinks it’ll help him warm up to playing and interacting when he’s ready.”

I tried looking for local playgroups and classes earlier, but it turned into a rabbit hole of options and conflicting parenting advice. Eventually, I had to step away to take a breather. I usually enjoy doing deep dives into a subject, but this felt more like an emotional endurance test than a fact-finding mission. Honestly, it’s a miracle neither my browser nor my brain short-circuited.

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