Two months of living in a house full of ghosts
The next two months crawled.
I threw myself into work because silence at home was unbearable. I hired a nanny to help with Luke because I couldn’t keep it together long enough to be everything he needed.
Our house felt like a museum of Stacey.
Her clothes still hung in the closet.
Her favorite mug sat unwashed by the sink like I was waiting for her to walk in and laugh at my laziness.
Every corner held a memory, and every memory felt like a trap.
One morning, Luke sat at the table pushing cereal around his bowl, barely eating. He looked smaller than he had any right to look.
That’s when I knew we needed a change of air.
“Hey champ,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “How about we go to the beach?”
His eyes lit up for the first time in weeks. “Can we build sandcastles?”
