He asked anyone who might have heard something.
Eventually, the trail went cold.
And Thomas did what people sometimes do when grief becomes too painful to carry.
He stopped looking.
“He thought Daniel was dead,” my mother whispered. “Or that he had chosen never to come home.”
“But he wasn’t dead?”
My mother shook her head.
“No. We learned that much later.”
I looked at Claire.
She was holding the bouquet again, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on my father.
“How did you find out?”
