She flinched.
I hated that I had hurt her.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Do you understand how many Sundays I’ve sat beside my son’s grave wishing I had one more piece of him?”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
“Yes.”
“While his son was here?”
“I almost called you a hundred times.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She looked toward the hallway again.
“Because every month I waited made it harder.”
That answer hurt because I understood it.
Grief does that.
One impossible day becomes a week.
Then a month.
Then years.
I finally sat across from her.
My anger hadn’t disappeared.
But something else had entered the room.
Wonder.
“Does Beau know about Caleb?”
Sadie nodded.
“I tell him about his dad.”
She reached for her phone.
“I have pictures.”
My throat tightened.
“Pictures?”
“Of Caleb. Of us. Some from school.”
She opened a folder and handed me the phone.
