the middle of a grieving boy’s song.
The officer in front took off his hat.
And I knew him.
Gray at the temples now. Heavier than I remembered. A thick mustache he’d had since before I met him.
Ray Delgado.
My husband’s partner for nine years. The man who’d carried one corner of David’s casket. The man whose phone calls I hadn’t returned in almost three years.
He didn’t look at me. He looked at the stage. At Caleb.
And then he did something I didn’t understand at all.
He
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