I sat in his room every day now.
Some mornings I could still see my son in the kitchen flipping a pancake too high and laughing when it landed half on the stove. That was the last morning I saw him alive.
He looked tired, though he still smiled through it and told me not to baby him when I asked if he was sleeping enough.
Owen had been fighting cancer for two years by then. Charlie and I had built our whole hope around the belief that he was going to come through it. That is why the lake took more than our son that day. It took the future we had already started promising ourselves.
