My family went on vacation to Cancún while I was burying my twelve-year-old son… and when they came back, they no longer had a home. No warning. No return.

Always in a hurry.

Then one morning in July, the doctor called.

“Mrs. Carter, you need to come in immediately.”

I saw her face in the hallway and knew.

Lucas was gone.

That afternoon, I called my mother.

My hands were shaking.

“I need help,” I said. “I have to bury my son.”

Silence.

Then—

“We can’t, Angela. We’re flying to Cancún tomorrow with Vanessa and Kyle. The trip’s already paid for.”

I gripped the phone.

“Mom… Lucas was your grandson.”