On Mother’s Day, a little girl appears at my door holding my son’s backpack—revealing a truth I was never meant to find.

squished thing again.’”

I gripped the chair.

“Again?”

She nodded, crying now.

“He told me before, but he said not to tell you because you had the flu.”

My knees nearly gave out.

“He said moms think kids don’t know stuff, but we do,” she cried.

“He said he’d tell you after Mother’s Day, when the unicorn was done.”

“Oh, Randy.”

“I continue reading …