I Stood in My Old Kitchen on a Chilly Saturday Afternoon When My Son Said, ‘I’m Getting Married Tomorrow. Goodbye.’

The garden had been my refuge, a place of growth and life.

Now it felt like a reminder of what had been.

I watched the leaves rustle softly in the breeze.

They moved on, as if unaffected by the upheaval inside.

The heater’s hum persisted, a dull ache in the background.

“When did it all change?”

He glanced at me, briefly, his eyes unreadable.

“A while ago,” he replied, as if it were obvious.

I nodded, though it felt hollow.

The weight of his decisions, of everything, hung heavy.