The Weight of Absence
The word struck him harder than any failed deal ever had.
Five.
His briefcase slipped from his hand, landing uselessly in the grass. Contracts, schedules, plans—none of it mattered anymore.
He hadn’t known.
He hadn’t been there.
Aaron lowered himself to the ground slowly, almost cautiously, as if he were asking permission to exist in that moment.
“May I… stay?” he asked softly.
Maya’s expression softened, though a trace of sadness remained.
“It’s your sons’ birthday,” she said. “You should be here.”
Owen took a hesitant step forward.
“Are you the dad?” he asked in a small, uncertain voice.
Something inside Aaron broke open.
“I am,” he answered. “And I made a mistake by being away so much.”
Evan sniffed.
“Aunt Maya said you work really far away.”
Aaron looked at Maya then—and understood.
She had protected his image.
She had carried his absence so their hearts wouldn’t have to.
