I thought my son was struggling with a new baby until he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Mommy, that baby isn’t ours.” What he said next changed everything.
I still hear Max’s voice in my head sometimes. Not the laughing, sticky-handed, superhero voice I knew so well. Not the one that used to shout, “Mom, watch this!” before doing something reckless off the couch.
I hear the whisper.
“Mommy, that’s not my sister.”
