Liam and Rachel became part of my life. We made pizza, played games, and laughed. One day, Liam called me “Uncle Jake,” and I didn’t correct him.
I wasn’t replacing Ethan. No one ever could.
But I was healing.
A few weeks later, Rachel asked if I’d be willing to be Liam’s emergency contact. I didn’t even hesitate.
That night, I pulled out a box of Ethan’s old drawings. Liam pointed to one.
“That’s me,” he said. “And that’s you.”
It was a picture Ethan had drawn years ago.
I don’t pretend to understand it. But I know this: love finds its way.
Sometimes in faded pajamas. Sometimes on a yellow couch.