ADVERTISEMENT
It’ll be quieter.”
Tomorrow afternoon.
Not Christmas Eve.
Not when everyone was gathered.
Not when pictures would be taken.
Leftovers.
A quieter room where my son’s absence could be explained as scheduling.
I looked at Caleb.
His ears were red. Snow clung to his hair. His fingers were white around the handles of the gift bag.
“Mom,” I said, and my voice did continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT
