No more sleeping with the hallway light on—“you’re not a baby, Lucas.” She told him he should stop writing in his notebook. “Grief journals are just a way to stay stuck.” Then, one night at dinner, Dana said something that hollowed him out completely. “You know, it’s been almost a year. I think your mom would want you to let go now.”
Lucas didn’t answer. He didn’t cry. He didn’t even flinch. He just stared at the plate in front of him, nodding once, like she expected him to. But later that night, he lay awake in the dark, gripping his pillow until his knuckles ached, willing himself not to cry. He failed. The tears came hard, silent and sharp, soaking into the mattress like secrets.