Evan could not answer. “You should go,” he said after a pause, his voice hollow. Rachel gave a brief nod and left without another word, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the room.
He knelt in front of his sons, trying to gather them close. “It is all right,” he whispered, though his voice cracked. Aaron turned his face away. Simon stared down at his hands. Evan stayed there longer than he realized, surrounded by the weight of a decision he did not fully understand.
Eighteen months earlier, everything had shattered in a single instant. His wife had been driving the boys home from preschool, their backpacks still decorated with finger paint and stickers, when a speeding truck ignored a red light and struck the driver side of their car. She died before the paramedics arrived. The boys survived, but severe spinal trauma left them with injuries doctors spoke about in careful, measured tones that allowed no room for hope.
