The Run (3)

Jesse started fingering the broken Cheerios. “Daddy, I want some cheese or a banana.” The last piece of my heart broke.

“We don’t have any of those. Let’s see if we can whistle while we eat these Cheerios.” What followed was a giggling spray of wet oats which coated both our faces. It was the least I could offer my boy.

“What is going on out there!?” Steph was awake.

“Nothing honey. Just breakfast.” I returned to the bedroom while Jesse’s whistling made a bigger mess. “How are you today?” I peeked through the bedroom door.

“How am I? I am miserable, how are you?” Steph was unreachable most mornings. She could not manage her sense of loss. On her nightstand and tacked to the wall above was a shrine of photos to Sarah, our daughter. Every morning Steph would lean over from the bed and stare at them.

My little girl, my most favorite person in the world was gone. She was lost that first day, months ago, despite all our efforts. I had cried her out of my head, but she would never leave my heart.

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