“Mom.”
“No, sweetheart.”
I pushed the letter back toward him.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“She wouldn’t want you humiliated.”
“She asked me.”
“She was dying, Eli.”
The words came out harsher than I intended.
His face changed.
I reached for his hand.
“I’m sorry. I just mean… people can be cruel. You know that.”
He looked down at the dress.
“I promised her.”
“You were scared.”
“I still promised.”
I started crying.
“I already lost one child. I can’t sit there and watch hundreds of people tear apart the other one.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Then don’t watch them.”
I looked at him.
“Watch me.”
His father was far less understanding.
Mark, my husband of twenty-one years, stared at the dress as if Eli had placed something offensive on the kitchen table.
“You’re not serious.”
Related Posts
