I remember standing alone in my kitchen, gripping the phone, staring into emptiness.
After that, life turned into routine instead of living.
I went to work, came home, reheated frozen meals, and ate in silence.
Friends checked in. My sister called every week. None of it filled the void.
I kept Emma’s drawings on the refrigerator until the paper turned yellow.
I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.
I never imagined I’d be a father again. That part of my life felt buried alongside them.
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