“No, don’t leave,” Mom is at it again. “Why do you have to go back to that house, Noah? You’ll be alone. Stay here for a few days. Let us look after William.” Noah has been living with us for almost three weeks now. Mom is starting to look more alive, no longer a walking skeleton of herself. She’s eating again. Not talking to herself in circles. Some of that is thanks to Noah, and William. Their presence keeps her from collapsing into the full weight of her grief. But Noah has his own life. He can’t stay with us forever. “Honey,” my father tries, his voice gentle, like it always is, but she shuns him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t speak to me. I don’t want them to go. Don’t try to convince me.” “I can leave Will,” Noah says, and the sound of his voice breaks my heart. He doesn’t sound like him
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