I'm sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and watching the rain, when I hear little feet shuffling behind me.
I turn and try smiling at my little boy.
"Daddy," he says, timidly.
"Hey little buddy," I say, trying to be cheerful.
Tears starting, he says, "I saw the closet monster again last night."
"Aw, my little buddy," I say, taking him in my arms. His crying breaks my heart. I want to tell him everything's okay, that there's nothing in his closet that could hurt him.
But I can't. Because it's his dead mother we both see at night.
I turn and try smiling at my little boy.
"Daddy," he says, timidly.
"Hey little buddy," I say, trying to be cheerful.
Tears starting, he says, "I saw the closet monster again last night."
"Aw, my little buddy," I say, taking him in my arms. His crying breaks my heart. I want to tell him everything's okay, that there's nothing in his closet that could hurt him.
But I can't. Because it's his dead mother we both see at night.
