“We don’t need him.” He looks at me hard, studying my face.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say, and we both know I’m lying.
“Your eyes look like you were crying,” he says. “Allergies,” I say. He scoots closer to me and takes my hand in his.
“Please be okay, Mom.” And I know what he means: I’m all he has.
— Jun 13, 2026 03:15PM
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