My Son Called at Midnight About the Blanket His Wife Threw Away

with comforting precision.

Rain tapped gently against the window above the sink.

Everything felt peaceful.

Everything except me.

Inside the bag rested the blanket I had knitted for my grandson.

Soft ivory yarn.

A border decorated with tiny embroidered blue stars.

Four months of patient work stitched together one careful loop at a time by hands stiffened with continue reading …