He sat with his wife’s photo, waiting for a son who had already boarded without him

wider and stepped inside without waiting for permission. The arrogance was familiar, but the desperation underneath was new.

— For nine years, — he began sharply, — I’ve counted on your reliability. Your consistency. Your…

— My silence? — I offered.

He flinched. A small, involuntary twitch of guilt or rage. I couldn’t tell which.

— This isn’t the time continue reading …