That Saturday, we met at the park again.
The boys ran toward each other like no time had passed at all. They played until they were breathless, the bear sitting quietly between them, just a toy now.
That night, Bear went on a shelf above Mark’s bed.
It never spoke again.
But I listen better now. To pauses. To silence. To the small signs that someone needs help and doesn’t know how to ask.
Sometimes the quietest cries are the most important ones.
