"Mum, when is Dad coming back home?"

My son's question made me stop in my tracks. I've been preparing for him to ask that very question, but no amount of preparation lessened the pain from actually hearing the question from my son's mouth. I turned around to face him squarely. Seeing my son's face has always reminded me of him, from the brown curls to the bluish-grey of his eyes.

His eyes locked into mine and the startling resemblance of those eyes to him, made me lose my focus. I was never able to say no to those eyes. I took his hand and led him to the patio. I turned my back to him and held on to the railing.

"Sherlock, sit down and I'll try to answer you."