My Son Brought

in the driveway.

Caleb sat at the kitchen table, turning his mug slowly between both hands.

“Do you think Grandpa really couldn’t think of anything?” he asked.

I didn’t pretend not to understand.

“No.”

He nodded.

“That was kind of the answer.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at me.

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop saying sorry like you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

I sat continue reading …