My ex-wife came to see our son. She ended up staying the night. I let her sleep on the couch. After midnight, I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.

I lived in Cary, North Carolina, a suburban town outside Raleigh. The house was a three-bedroom place that suddenly felt too big for just me and Mason, but I couldn’t bring myself to sell it.

Every corner of that house carried memories—birthdays, holidays, late-night talks, and the day Mason was born. It was the home Laura and I once believed we’d grow old in together.

Mason was the best thing in my life. His toothy grin and endless excitement about dinosaurs and football made every day brighter. His laughter filled the house, and whenever I heard it, I was reminded that despite everything I’d lost, I still had something real.