My son died at 2:17 a.m.—and by sunrise my daughter-in-law was already talking about “moving quickly.” i kept quiet. that’s when i learned what james had left in my name—and why silence can be a shield.
I drove home from the law office with the envelope sitting on the passenger seat like a live wire. The snow on Cedar Avenue was fresh, the kind that muffles sound and makes the world feel smaller, quieter, honest. Inside my coat pocket, my hands shook—not from grief, but from something sharper. Instinct. At home,…