Chapter 9 - A New Dawn
By the second anniversary of Ethan’s passing, the pain had changed. It was no longer a sharp, stabbing knife; it was a soft, dull ache—a permanent monument to the love I would always have for my son.
On that morning, I walked down to the shore alone.
I held Ethan’s green stuffed dinosaur, Rexy, in my arms. The fabric was worn and faded from the salt air, but it still carried the faint, impossible scent of baby shampoo.
I walked to the edge of the water where the waves gently kissed the sand.
"I love you, my sweet boy," I whispered. "I will always love you. But it's time for mommy to let you rest."
I had bought a small, biodegradable wooden boat. I placed Rexy inside it, along with a collection of crooked crayon suns I had saved from our old refrigerator. I pushed the boat gently into the receding tide.
I stood there for hours, watching the little vessel drift further and further out, until it was nothing more than a tiny speck on the horizon, swallowed by the golden light of the rising sun.
When I finally turned around, David was standing at the edge of the dunes. He wasn't intruding; he was just waiting, a thermos of warm tea in his hand, Barnaby sitting quietly by his side.
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He didn't say anything as I walked up to him. He just wrapped his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close against the morning chill.
For the first time in two years, I leaned into someone’s warmth without fear, without anger, and without a single lie between us.
