
I looked over at Alex. He didn’t say anything; he simply watched me the way Richard used to when something was beyond fixing.
I read it once, then again.
My finger followed the edge of the sticky note once more.
“He left,” I whispered. “So I could keep the light on. My light…”
“You did, Mom,” Alex said, his voice cracking.
And for the first time in five years, I allowed myself to believe it — and the warmth of that belief almost undid me.
“He left.”