We built new rhythms — late-night feedings, soft lullabies, shared laughter at 3 a.m. The house was filled with gentle noise again — our kind of noise.

No sudden phone calls. No interference. Just peace.

The Weight of Letting Go

One night, Mark found an old photo — himself as a child, his mother smiling beside him. He stood there for a long time, the image trembling in his hands.

“She’s gone,” he whispered.
I wrapped my arms around him. “You didn’t lose her today, Mark. You lost her a long time ago. You just stopped pretending.”

He nodded, tears falling freely now. “I should’ve protected you sooner.”
“You did,” I said softly. “When it mattered most.”

The Final Goodbye

Weeks later, a small cardboard box arrived from Diane’s lawyer — his childhood keepsakes.
A baseball glove. Comic books. An old photo.