A bouquet at a time.
I lost my wife.
I lost the right to wake beneath the same roof as my son every morning.
I lost control of the company I spent fifteen years building.
I lost the house where I once believed everything important would remain waiting for me.
But the worst loss was harder to name.
I lost Corinne’s belief in the man I claimed to be.
And there was no account large enough to buy that back.
On my next Saturday with Owen, I drove to Corinne’s apartment to pick him up.
She opened the door holding him.
He was ten months old by then, sturdy and curious, reaching for everything.
When he saw me, his arms lifted.
“Dada.”
Corinne did too.
“Dada,” he repeated.
Corinne placed him in my arms.
I held him against my chest.
“Hey, buddy.”
He grabbed my collar.
Behind him, Corinne smiled.
