It was the face of a man who had been carrying something alone for a very long time and had just been found out.
He was crying.
“Laura,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to see this. I didn’t want you to have to carry it again.”
“Greg.” My voice shook. “What is that. What are you burying.”
He looked down at the bundle in his arms.
And very gently, he folded back a corner of Michael’s blue baby blanket.
Inside was not what my terrified mind had built.
It was a small wooden box.
