soften.
I did not.
Then he said, “Are we done?”
I looked up.
He was not asking about the house.
Not really.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But we cannot begin anything better while you are still taking from me.”
He cried again.
This time, there was no performance in it.
I saw shame there.
Maybe even grief.
But shame is only useful if it changes what a person does next.
On the last day, they moved out with a rented truck.
Cassie did not say goodbye.
Ryan stood by the porch steps after the final box was loaded.
The flag was still there.
The mailbox still leaned.
The house looked tired.
So did my son.
“I’m sorry about Mom’s picture,” he said.
It was not enough.
It was also the first true sentence he had given me in a long time.
I nodded.
“I am too.”
After they
