And I hope this story reminds you of something simple but true. God doesn’t always fix the loss.
But sometimes he sends someone to sit in the ache with you. And that kind of love, it’s never just coincidence.
It started with a red paper heart. Not the kind sold in stores, not the perfect kind.
The kind a seven-year-old cuts slowly. Jagged edges, smudged crayon, bent down the middle from too many folds. In Mrs. Ellison’s year 1 class.
The desks were covered in glitter dust and glue sticks. The windows fogged with the breath of children laughing too loud. Everywhere.
Kids were whispering about Sunday brunch and perfume gifts. They compared cards and asked each other what color their mums would wear.
At the back table, John and Kevin Scott worked in silence. Same posture, same serious faces. Identical red blazers buttoned to the top. They didn’t giggle. They didn’t rush.
They just folded carefully. They knew they were supposed to feel something today, but feelings had become tricky in their house.
They came in sudden waves, or not at all. Mrs. Ellison passed by and placed a hand gently on Kevin’s back. You boys gave the smallest nod. Kevin didn’t look up.
They were used to this, the soft voices, the sideways glances, the well-meaning concern. But they weren’t sad. Not exactly. T
hey were waiting for something they couldn’t name.
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