“He’s my son too.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Please, Tisha. Don’t ask me anything.”Find Grief Counseling
Over the next four months, Daniel still answered when I called, but every conversation eventually reached the same wall.
“Mom, I love you. But don’t ask me to forgive Dad.”
I hated Richard for refusing to explain.
I hated Daniel for leaving.
Mostly, I hated myself because while the two men I loved tore something apart between them, I had no idea what I was supposed to fix.
And fixing things was usually the one thing I knew how to do.Book Grief Counseling
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Then the chapel doors opened.
Daniel stood there.
For half a second, all I saw was my son.
Then I saw what he was wearing.
Pink.
Not a shirt.
Not a strange suit.Choose Baby Gear
