Silence — sadness.
The calm smile at the kitchen table—a terrified nineteen-year-old trying desperately to reassure the only parent he had left.
And meanwhile, I had spent the whole morning packing up his things, because my own pain had blinded me to his.
When Leo returned home that night, he stopped the moment he saw the packed boxes near the hallway.
The color drained from his face.
For a horrible second, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Before he could speak, I walked straight towards him.
Then he held him tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered through tears.
He remained completely still.
“I found the bag.”
