At that moment, a sob cracks through. I push it down, not wanting to hear it myself.
Not because of them.
Because of what I lost.
Because my son never got the chance to grow up the way his children did.
Because of my family—the one I had but never got to keep.
And what he lost too… but somehow still gained. It feels unfair.
***
The drive home feels longer than it should. When I finally reach my apartment, I unlock the door and step inside. I’m relieved by how quiet it is. How empty. How nothing here expects anything from me. Because deep down… I have nothing left to lose.
Maybe this relationship was never built for something like this. With what I might be facing, I’m not sure it’s worth the time needed to try.
The bottle of beer is tempting, sitting between the out-of-date meals in the fridge. I don’t drink them often, but I keep a few here just in case of a particularly bad day. Tonight feels like one of those nights.
I twist the cap off, then drop onto the sofa, drinking half the bottle in one go. I don’t even bother turning the television on. What’s the point?
Today feels like the moment I should have kept my walls up.