“I just wanted you to see Dad’s heart for yourself… I love you both.”
I read it twice before I could cry.
Then we both did.
For the first time since the funeral, Charlie didn’t pull away when I reached for him.
He held on.
Like he had nowhere left to hide.
Later, he showed me something else—a small tattoo of Owen’s face over his heart.
“I got it after the funeral,” he said. “I didn’t let you hug me because it was still healing.”
I laughed through tears.
“It’s the only tattoo I’ll ever love.”
Nothing erased the grief.
But somehow… our son still found a way to bring us back together.
And for a thirteen-year-old boy—
that was one more miracle.