That truth started on a night when the snow came down…
They left around 7 p.m. I remember because Michael stood in the doorway holding his youngest, Emily, half-asleep in her little puffy jacket.
He smiled at me the way sons do when they think they’ve got everything under control.
« We’ll be fine, Dad, » he said. « I want to get the kids home before it gets too late. »
The wind howled when I closed the door behind them, and something in my gut twisted. I remember that part so clearly — as if some alarm in my bones went off too late.
« We’ll be fine, Dad. »
Three hours later, I heard a knock. The kind you never forget. It was sharp and urgent.
I opened the door to see Officer Reynolds, snow melting off his jacket, and sorrow already spread across his face as if he’d practiced it in the mirror.
There had been an accident.
The rural road Michael was driving on had iced over. Their car had gone off the shoulder and crashed into the trees.
