My Son Brought

aside.

My father stood behind her, holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

One for Caleb.

One for me.

No one pretended the past had not happened.

No one mentioned moving forward as a way to avoid looking back.

On the mantel hung six stockings.

All with names.

Caleb noticed.

I saw him notice.

His face did not transform with joy. Real healing is rarely that theatrical.continue reading …