My legs moved even though my mind screamed not to. I steadied myself against the wall as I walked toward the door.
Grief had fooled me before— faces in crowds, laughter in stores, dreams that felt too real.
But this… this felt different.
Too clear.
Too present.
Too alive.
“Mommy?”
That single word shattered me.
My hands shook as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
A little boy stood on my porch.
Barefoot.
Dirty.
Shivering beneath the porch light.
He wore a faded blue T-shirt with rocket ships on it—the same one my son had worn the day he went to the hospital.
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