By the time we pulled into our driveway, our home looked the same. But it didn’t feel the same. It felt like I was walking through a memory of what my life used to be.
That night, after bath time and bedtime stories, Tim drifted off to sleep nestled among his favorite stuffed animals. I sat on the edge of my bed, clutching his tablet.
There it was.
A small dot, showing a location I didn’t recognize. Not near any park or store we frequented. Just a residential street, about 20 minutes away.
It wasn’t a quick stop either. The dot stayed there for over three hours that Saturday.
Plenty of time for juice boxes, balloons, and new “siblings” calling Jake “Dad.”
The Yellow House
The next morning, I dropped Tim off at school like everything was normal. I kissed his forehead, reminded him not to eat glue again, and drove straight to the address.
The house was pale yellow with a wide porch, potted plants, and a handmade sign in the yard that read, “Be Kind—Everyone’s Fighting a Battle You Can’t See.”
Continue reading…
