He finished late Sunday night. Twenty teddy bears sat lined across the table, each with its own personality.
He looked at me, suddenly unsure. “Do you think… could I give them away?”
“To who?” I asked, picking one up. The scent of Ethan’s aftershave and laundry soap almost broke me.
“The shelter, Mom. The kids there… they don’t have much. We’ve been talking about the place at school.”
“Do you think… could I give them away?”
“Your dad would have loved that, Mason.”
We packed them together, Mason slipping a handwritten note into each:
“Made with love. You are not alone. Mason.”
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