While we were celebrating New Year’s Eve, my husband got a gift from his high school sweetheart and froze upon opening it. By morning, he was just gone. For half a year, I had no idea where he’d gone or why. As he finally returned, he wasn’t alone. He arrived with a crushing truth.
I can still hear the pop of the champagne cork from that night.
The kids were shouting and laughing in the next room. Our friends were singing terribly, completely off-key. I was arranging shrimp cocktails on a platter, moving through the motions like it was any other holiday gathering.
But Logan was quiet. Too quiet.
At the time, I brushed it off as end-of-year stress—work deadlines, family expectations, the heaviness that always comes with another year ending.
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