I believed him. I had no reason not to.
After that, I poured everything I had into Ethan. He grew into a loud, stubborn kid with a laugh that could pull me out of even the darkest days, the ones where grief still ambushed me out of nowhere — walking past the baby aisle at the store, hearing a lullaby on the radio.
Derek changed after that hospital stay. He got quieter. More careful with his words, like he was always choosing them from a very short list. Whenever I brought up the son we’d lost, he’d say it hurt too much to talk about, and I let it go every time. I thought it was grief.
I had no idea it was guilt.
Years slid by the way they do when you’re just trying to keep a family running. By the time Ethan started elementary school, life felt normal again — school mornings, lost shoes, homework at the kitchen table.
