It was a rainy Tuesday evening when I got the phone call. Liam had been driving home from work when a truck ran a red light. The accident was devastating. He didn’t survive.
I still remember standing in the hospital hallway with Hera, staring up at the pale fluorescent lights while Alyssa cried in a chair nearby. Bill was with a neighbor, far too young to understand what had just happened.
Losing Liam felt like losing a piece of my own history.
But what came next was even harder.
Alyssa struggled after the funeral. At first, we all thought it was simply grief. But weeks turned into months, and she grew quieter and more distant. She stopped returning calls. She stopped seeing friends. Eventually, she stopped leaving the house altogether.
Then one evening, she showed up at our door with Bill in her arms and a suitcase beside her.
Her eyes looked hollow.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
We sat her down. We tried to calm her. We told her she wasn’t alone. But it became painfully clear that she was overwhelmed by the weight of raising Bill by herself.
“I just need time,” she said, her voice shaking. “Time to get my life together.”
She asked if we could take care of Bill temporarily.
Of course, we said yes.
At the time, we thought it would only be for a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months.
But Alyssa left town the next morning, promising to stay in touch.
At first, she did. She called occasionally and sent a few letters. Then the calls stopped. The letters stopped too. Eventually, she simply disappeared.
Bill stayed with us.
Years passed.
