But those weren’t the whole truth. “Talking about your dad hurt me,” I said. “Sometimes I avoided things because I thought it would hurt you too.”
Ethan looked at me.
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“I like hearing about him.”
I knew that.
I just hadn’t understood what my silence had left behind.
That weekend, I pulled Ryan’s boxes from storage.
Ethan watched me cut the tape on the first one.
“You really kept all this?”
Inside was Ryan’s old baseball glove, his watch, Father’s Day cards Ethan had made in kindergarten, even the hospital bracelet from the day Ethan was born.
