in the toaster.”
I burst out laughing.
Then Greg smiled faintly.
“I just miss being the person somebody called when the dark felt too scary.”
That silenced me.
I realized how often I’d responded to his sadness with logic.
The kids were successful.
They were independent.
That was the goal.
All of those things were true.
But being proud of the people our children became didn’t mean Greg couldn’t grieve the version of himself they no longer needed.
Still, I pointed toward the guest bed.
“None of this excuses lying
