The garden had been my refuge, a place of growth and life.
Now it felt like a reminder of what had been.
I watched the leaves rustle softly in the breeze.
They moved on, as if unaffected by the upheaval inside.
The heater’s hum persisted, a dull ache in the background.
“When did it all change?”
He glanced at me, briefly, his eyes unreadable.
“A while ago,” he replied, as if it were obvious.
I nodded, though it felt hollow.
The weight of his decisions, of everything, hung heavy.
My world was shifting, and I felt powerless to stop it.
The silence stretched, and I felt the tears threaten.
But I held them back, unwilling to give in.
I watched him, my son, a stranger now in so many ways.
The heater’s hum was relentless, a reminder of time passing.
“I hope you’re happy,” I managed, though it felt like a lie.
He nodded, turning away, ending the conversation.
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