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“He talked about your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

“Your interests. The fashion stuff.”

“I was a little kid.”

“And already very opinionated, according to him.” That earns no laugh this time. His mouth flattens instead, and he goes back to fiddling with the loose thread. So I say, “He told everyone about your designs. He was so proud of them. Of you, Kamden. It was all he’d talk about some days. About how you were going to be a fashion designer, and would make more money and be happier than any of us.”

Kamden swallows thickly. “He used to say I could.”

“He believed it.”

“I thought maybe he was just being nice.”

“He wasn’t nice enough to lie that consistently.”

A tiny broken smile crosses his face.

“He was planning on leaving the Navy. Did you know that?”

Kamden freezes mid-breath, eyes filling with tears. “What? No.”

I hold his gaze. “He hated being away from you so much. He also wanted to get full custody of you.”

Something fractures in his expression, and he whispers brokenly, “He said that…? That he—that he wanted me?”

“He wanted nothing but you.”

Kamden’s chin trembles.

“He talked about how he wanted to paint your room pink, and buy you a sewing machine,” I add quietly.

A sob catches in Kamden’s throat. “He—he s-said when he… when he came home… he’d…” His voice disappears.

There’s nothing I can say that fixes the end of that sentence, so I don’t try.

Kamden’s shoulders shake with silent tears. I stay where I am, even though every impulse is screaming at me to move closer—to sit beside him, wrap my arms around his trembling shoulders, let him bury his face in my shirt and cry until there’s nothing left.

After a few minutes, his eyes dry up, and his breathing starts to steady. He brushes away the remnants of tears from his damp, reddened cheeks, then asks so softly I almost miss it, “Were you there?”

I know exactly what he means.

“Yes,” I answer, recalling the blast, the rubble, his father’s last moments.

Kamden takes a small, hitched breath. “When he died?”

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the memories. “Yes.”

“Was he alone?”

“No, sweetheart. He was never alone.” I open my eyes.

Kamden looks down for a moment, fingers knotting his stuffed animal’s fur. “Were you…” He pauses, then looks back at me. “Were you with him?”

I nod. “Yes.”

His eyes flick toward my prosthetic, understanding dawning on him. “Is that when…?”