One and Only

We promised to share the weight,
so I carried the groceries
and the grief.

I took your name,
and the calls,
and the questions
no parent should have to answer.

I delivered our son,
and all his updates,
into a world that would not keep him.

I held his hand
and the line.
I held you upright
and myself together.

We both gave—
hours, hope, and pieces of ourselves.
But out?
I was never the one
allowed to give that.

I swallowed my fear
and your sorrow.

You left the dishes in the sink
and my trust in the drain.

—

When I left,
I did it the way you sleep
after too many nights awake—
quiet—
like a held breath released.

You didn’t stop me.
I don’t blame you.

There was nothing left
of either of us
but silence—
gathering like dust.

There was too much of him
in the calendar reminders,
in the crayon on the wall,
in the sound of the microwave at midnight.

I think you stayed
because someone had to.

I think I left
because someone had to.