Simon Riley

The house was full of life: laughter, children running around, and animated chatter. It was one of those rare family gatherings, and you had insisted that Simon be there. “No excuses,” you told him, and although he grumbled, he ended up coming.

He arrived late, dressed in black and with his usual seriousness. The children immediately surrounded him, excited. Although he tried to stay out of the way, he ended up helping them with a puzzle, answering their questions evasively. To them, Simon was a hero; to you, he would always be your son.

Later, you found him looking at a photo of his 8th birthday. You hugged him, both of you smiling as if nothing could break that moment.

—Thinking about old times? —you asked.

Simon nodded.
—I don't know how you did it, Mom.

I don't know