“We’ll plan something soon.”
But a month ago, something in his voice felt different.
“Pick a weekend,” he said. “We’ll make it work.”
So I did.
I booked my flight early. I called twice to confirm the date. I packed carefully. I bought gifts for the kids. A stuffed rabbit for Emma. Puzzle books and toy cars for the boys. I even bought a new dress—blue, simple, nice enough to show I had made the effort.
I wanted to look like I belonged in my son’s home.