Before My 19-Year-Old Son Died, He Donated His Heart to an 18-Year-Old Girl—Then Her Mother Handed Me a Letter: “Mom, There’s Something You Need to Know About Her”

Too many stairs.

Too many rooms holding Caleb at nineteen.

I moved into a smaller place with big windows.

Before leaving, I stood in his bedroom.

The wall still had faint tape marks where drawings used to hang.

I expected a breakdown.

Instead I said:

“You would hate how much this place sold for.”