But I insisted he go.
“Sweetheart,” I told Noah carefully, “why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Noah shrugged.
“Ethan said you weren’t ready.”
Tears rolled down my face before I even realized I was crying again.
“Did he say anything else?”
Noah nodded.
“He said to tell Dad it wasn’t his fault either.”
My husband had blamed himself every single day since the accident.
He was the one driving.
The next morning, I told my husband everything.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he leaned forward and covered his face with his hands.
Then he whispered something I will never forget.
“The night before the accident,” he said quietly, “Ethan told me he had a dream.”
I looked up.
