“If you want to cut it, that’s okay,” I told him.
He looked at me as though I’d suggested something ridiculous.
“Mom, I’m not cutting it.”
“Even if people keep teasing you?”
He shrugged.
“They’ll get bored eventually.”
And that was the end of the discussion.
Even Grace teased him.
During one video call, she studied his growing hair and laughed.
“Your hair looks better than mine ever did.”
Noah pretended to look offended.
“That’s because I use extremely expensive shampoo.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“You use your mom’s shampoo.”
“Exactly. Very exclusive.”
She burst out laughing.
Hearing that laugh meant more to me than I could explain.
Three years earlier, Noah and I had lost his father, David.
My husband had been the kind of man who could make a miserable day better simply by walking into the room.
He was funny, patient, and endlessly affectionate with our son.
