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

the photo we took together at the bus station—him smiling, bundled in my scarf, eyes closed in the sun. I placed it beside my bed. Not because he would remember.

But because I would. Because this chapter of my life, born from pain and defiance, had become something bigger. Not an escape. A homecoming.

The morning Grandpa passed, the house was silent.continue reading …