them in my phone, spread out over three years. Birthdays. Holidays. The anniversary of David’s death. I’d never opened a single one.
I put the phone face down on my desk and went back to work.
If I had listened to that one, everything would have been different. Or maybe not. Maybe it would have been exactly the same, except that I would have known. And I would have taken that moment away from my son.
I’ll never know which.
David was a police officer for sixteen years.
People sometimes
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