We sat together quietly.
Then I whispered:
“I wish I'd known how scared Ethan was.”
David squeezed my hand.
“I know.”
I looked toward the headstone.
“But maybe he wasn't hiding because he didn't trust us.”
David turned toward me.
I continued.
“Maybe he was just trying to protect us the only way he knew.”
He nodded.
And for the first time, the memory didn't fill me only with guilt.
It filled me with tenderness.
Our boy had loved us.
Even when he was afraid.
Seven years after the funeral, Caleb invited us to his wedding.
His bride was a kind young woman named Rachel.
She had heard every story about Ethan.
Including the red dress.
When Caleb asked me to attend, he looked nervous.
“Mrs. Bennett, would you and Mr. Bennett sit with my family?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
He swallowed.
“And there's something else.”
I waited.
“Would you mind if I put Ethan's picture near the ceremony?”
