When my son, Tyler, mentioned his school’s Father’s Day event, I smiled through the ache. His dad, Tom, had been gone for three years.
The next day, his teacher called—thanking me for my husband’s amazing presentation. I froze. What was she talking about?
Later, I asked Tyler, and he shut down. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.The next morning,
I went to the school—and there he was. Not Tom, but Wes, Tom’s younger brother. Tyler stood beside him, holding his hand.
Wes later admitted Tyler had called him, not wanting to be the only kid without a dad. So Wes stepped in,
didn’t lie—just stood there. For Tyler. I was angry. Hurt. But then I looked at my son, truly smiling for the first time
in a long while. And I realized—this wasn’t about lies. It was about love.Wes wasn’t,
replacing Tom. He was showing up. And for the first time in years, I let someone stand beside me in the silence. And maybe, I didn’t feel so alone.
