The accident happened on a Thursday—I remember it clearly because it was our usual pizza night. We had just pulled into the driveway when the phone rang. After I hung up and shared the news, my son Micah stood frozen on the porch. Zayden’s parents—both gone. A sudden car crash. No warning. Just… gone.
At first, Micah said nothing. He sat silently on the steps as night fell around him. Then, in a barely audible voice, he asked, “Where will Zayden go?”
It was the first time I saw my child cry in a way that truly shook me—grief that consumed his whole body, as if it was trying to tear its way out. The next day at the hospital, Zayden sat quietly in a plastic chair, clutching a well-loved teddy bear and staring at the floor. The moment Micah walked in, Zayden ran to him and held him so tightly, it was as if the world outside no longer existed.
