alone.
No sunglasses.
No expensive shirt.
No demanding tone.
Just my son.
He carried a small box.
“Can I come in?”
I studied him.
Then moved aside.
Austin set the box on the table.
Inside were my wedding earrings.
The earrings I had sold years earlier to afford Ernest’s medicine.
I stared at them.
“Where did you get these?”
“I bought them back.”
My eyes filled.
“I know they aren’t the same.”
“No,” I whispered.
“They’re not.”
Austin nodded.
“I can’t give you back the years.”
“No.”
“I can’t erase
