The Grief I Never Saw My son died in an accident at sixteen. And my husband, Sam, never shed a single tear. Not at the hospital while machines fell silent. Not at the funeral as I clung to the coffin. Not in the empty house where our boy’s laughter once lived. I grieved out loud He grieved by disappearing into work, into chores, into silence so heavy it widened every crack between us. I begged him to talk. He stayed made of stone. Slowly, the resentment we never addressed began to harden around our marriage like cement. Eventually, it was too much We divorced He remarried Life carried us in different directions, the way grief often does when it has nowhere to breathe….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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