Chapter 23 - My apology to Leo
I owed Leo an apology.
Not for failing to know the basement existed.
I genuinely did not.
For making him public.
My social-media post had spread.
His classmates eventually heard vague versions.
One child asked him:
“Did you really crawl on a broken leg?”
Leo came home furious.
“You told.”
I felt sick.
“Not your school.”
“You told people.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was angry.”
“It was mine.”
Six years old.
Still exact.
The story belonged to him before it belonged to me.
“I’m sorry.”
He crossed his arms.
“Delete.”
“I did.”
“Everybody delete.”
“I can’t control everybody.”
He hated that answer.
So did I.
I promised:
“No more posting about you.”
I kept it.
When reporters later contacted us through public court records, we declined.
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Leo did not need to become a symbol of resilience for strangers.
He needed second grade.
