Too Late to Hold Her, Too Late to Love Her

When I lost my baby in a car accident, I called Hugo Alistair.

But the one who answered was my eight-year-old son.

"Dad took me to tutoring. If it’s nothing important, don’t bother us."

Then, he hung up and blocked me.

I forced myself to call an ambulance, but Ava Sinclair’s latest post appeared on my screen just as I did.

[If I had never left, would I be the one married to you now?]

The picture showed her and Hugo standing under a sky bursting with fireworks.

Hugo’s reply was quiet but firm. [Yes.]

I tapped the like button casually. The next second, the post disappeared.