Since his mom passed, everything feels sharper for him. He flinches at sudden noises and asks questions I don’t know how to answer.
He watches me like he’s waiting for me to disappear, too.
Some days I still forget she’s gone.
I’ll turn to tell her something, and the space where she stood is just empty air.
Those moments gut me every time, but I can’t let Mark see that.
I can’t let him know that his dad is 36 years old and doesn’t have a clue how to do this alone.
So we walk.
That day, the sky was that pale blue that looks washed out.
A few other families were out, along with the usual assortment of couples walking dogs and joggers with earbuds.
It was a perfectly normal day, until it wasn’t.
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