Our Last Family Dinner
He spent his days at home, sitting in my room and staring at my photos for hours on end.
Everything in my room was exactly the way I had left it. My textbooks were still on the desk, my clothes still hanging in the closet, as though I had just stepped out and would walk back in at any moment.
Mom cooked my favorite meals every day, set them on the table, and served a plate for me as if I were still there. However, the food would go cold. She would reheat it, and it would go cold again. No one ever touched it.
The days passed, one after another, and Mom's and Dad's hair turned white. Their backs began to stoop. They aged years in what felt like weeks.