Daniel should have been beside us through all of it.
Instead, four months before Richard died, I came home from the pharmacy to find our wedding photograph shattered on the hallway floor.
Daniel stood beside it with a suitcase.
His face was wet with tears.
“I can’t believe you asked that of me!”
Richard was gripping the back of a chair for support.
“I have no other choice.”
Daniel’s face crumpled.
“Then you’ve lost your son!”
Daniel walked out.
The door slammed.
I followed him onto the porch, but by the time I reached the sidewalk, his car was already pulling away.
Daniel had already accepted a job three states away. Within a week, he was gone.
When I went back inside, Richard was sitting on the stairs.
“What happened?”
He stared at the broken photograph.
“This has to stay between Danny and me.”
“He’s my son too.”
