For four decades, Henry and I built what we thought was the perfect family. We had two sons: Richard, our firstborn, and Damian, five years younger. Richard was the soul of the house, always laughing, always helping. Damian was different, more reserved, but I loved him with the same intensity. On Sundays, the whole family would gather around our oak table, which Henry had carved with his own hands. Life was simple but beautiful.