I spent the afternoon in the healing room with my sons, trying to pretend everything was normal while my world fell apart around me.
Ash and Ryder didn't understand the politics. They just knew Mama was upset and immediately launched into a campaign to make me feel better. Ryder brought me every stuffed animal he could find. Ash carefully drew pictures of our family, which now apparently included "Papa Caden" and "Daddy Ezra" and something he labeled "Uncle Damon who smells like winter."
"Uncle Damon smells like pine trees," I corrected absently.
"No, that's Daddy Ezra." Ash was very certain about this. "Uncle Damon smells like winter. Cold and sharp and like snow before it falls."
The accuracy was unsettling. My three-year-old had a better read on people than most adults.
Maya appear
