I changed my clothes without a sound.
I picked the soft blue dress Gabriel loved—the one stitched with tiny white clouds. He used to hold it in his small hands and smile like it meant something magical.
“Mama, you look like a storybook mom,” he once told me. “The kind that keeps kids safe. The kind that doesn’t disappear.”
I picked up his urn and held it close, pressing it to my chest like I could still feel him there.
Then I left.
I drove to the only place he ever truly wanted to go—Ocean Park.
Every year, he used to ask.
“Just once, Mama… I want to see the dolphins. I’ll be good, I promise.”
And every year, Vincenzo said no.
Too dangerous. Too weak. Too sickly. Always too much for Gabriel, but never for anyone else.
I bought two tickets anyway.
One for me.
One for him.
I sat there holding the urn, whispering to it, laughing softly whenever the dolphins jumped through the water. People probably thought I had lost my mind, talking to something that couldn’t answer back.
I didn’t care.
This day wasn’t for them.
Not for Vincenzo. Not for his family. Not for anyone else in his world.
Only for Gabriel.
I lit a small candle near the railings, shielding it from the wind as the flame flickered.