He wouldn’t even let me hug him anymore.
At a stoplight, I looked at the little wooden bird hanging from my rearview mirror and started crying. Owen had made it for me last Mother’s Day in shop class. The wings were uneven. The beak was crooked.
I had called it beautiful, and he had rolled his eyes and said, “Mom, you’re legally required to say that!”
The school looked the same when I pulled in. That was unbearable.
Mrs. Dilmore was waiting near the front office, looking pale. With trembling hands, she held out a plain white envelope. “I found it in the back corner of my bottom desk drawer. I don’t know how I missed it.”
I took it carefully, as if paper could bruise. On the front, in Owen’s handwriting, were two words: For Mom.
My knees almost gave out right there.
“I found it in the back corner of my bottom desk drawer.”z
to be continued soon …”
