My husband had blamed himself every single day since the accident.
He was the one driving.
The next morning, I told my husband everything.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he leaned forward and covered his face with his hands.
Then he whispered something I will never forget.
“The night before the accident,” he said quietly, “Ethan told me he had a dream.”
I looked up.
“What kind of dream?”
My husband swallowed hard.
“He said he dreamed he was standing in our living room… and Noah was crying.”
A silence filled the room.
“He told me,” my husband continued slowly, “that if anything ever happened to him, I had to promise to take care of Noah and you.”
My heart started pounding.
“And what did you say?”
“I told him nothing was going to happen,” my husband whispered.
That night, after Noah went to sleep, I walked into Ethan’s room for the first time in weeks.
The toys were still on the shelves exactly where he left them.
His soccer jersey was still hanging on the back of the door.
Everything looked frozen in time.
I sat on the edge of his bed and closed my eyes.
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