“That lady was mean.”
“She was.”
“Why did you say sorry?”
The question stopped me.
“What?”
“You didn’t do anything.”
I looked at him.
Children notice everything.
“I didn’t want her to keep yelling.”
“But you said sorry like you did something wrong.”
He was right.
I had apologized automatically.
Not only to Vanessa.
I had been apologizing for months.
Sorry I’m tired.
Sorry dinner is simple.
Sorry I forgot.
Sorry I’m sad.
Sorry I can’t do what Dad used to do.
Sorry our life changed.
I looked at Noah.
“I think you’re right.”
He smiled slightly.
“So next time don’t say sorry.”
I laughed.
“I’ll work on it.”
“Good.”
He stole one of my fries.
I slapped his hand lightly.
“Those are mine.”
“You said sharing is caring.”
“Not with fries.”
He laughed.
I did too.
We stayed until sunset.
On the drive home, Lily slept.
Noah talked almost the entire way.
He told me about the boy he met.
The underwater contest.
The manager.
The screaming woman.
Then he became quiet.
“Dad would’ve told her to mind her own business.”
I smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
“He would’ve been really mad.”
“Probably.”
“Do you miss him every day?”
The question came softly.
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
I reached across the console.
Noah took my hand.
For months, I had avoided talking about Michael because I feared making
Noah sad.
I suddenly realized silence did not protect him.
He was already sad.
He simply carried it alone.
“What’s something you miss about Dad?”
I asked.
Noah thought.
“When he made pancakes.”
“He burned them.”
“I know.”
“You still miss them?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“What else?”
“The stupid voices.”
Michael used ridiculous voices when reading stories.
Noah was supposedly too old for bedtime stories.
He still remembered them.
“What do you miss?”
he asked.
I took a breath.
“His laugh.”
“His coffee.”
“He made terrible coffee.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because it was his.”
Noah nodded.
We spent the rest of the drive talking about Michael.
Not the accident.
Michael.
That distinction mattered.
The next morning, I woke expecting the familiar weight in my chest.
It was still there.
Grief did not disappear because of one afternoon at a pool.
But something was different.
I opened the curtains.
Then I made breakfast.
Noah entered the kitchen.
“Are we going anywhere today?”
I smiled.
“Look at you getting ambitious.”
He grinned.
“Maybe.”
We went to a park.
Two days later, the library.
