Was she angry about the deception, or only that she no longer controlled it?

I couldn’t answer.

For once, I didn’t need to.

At a grocery store, I saw a mother guiding a little boy through the produce section.

He was about Liam’s age and carried an enormous orange with both hands.

I stopped, unexpectedly emotional.

I had once pictured my own child reaching for fruit in that aisle.

I still mourned those imagined days.