After my husband died, my four-year-old started acting like bedtime hadn’t changed at all. That’s when I decided to find out what was really happening in his room at night.
A month ago, my world shattered when my husband, Daniel, died in a car accident.
Even after the funeral, I kept expecting to hear his truck pull into the driveway. I would pause in the kitchen and listen for his footsteps, the creak of the door, and the way he always called out, “I’m home!”
But the house remained quiet.
Daniel had always handled bedtime with our four-year-old son, Mason.
It was their thing. Every single night, Daniel would grab one of Mason’s storybooks, pull out some ridiculous costume from the old dress-up box, and act out the story as if he were on a stage.
Sometimes he was a knight, sometimes a pirate.
One time, my husband wrapped himself in a blanket, saying he was a dragon who’d caught a cold.
Mason laughed so hard that night that he nearly fell off the bed!
Sometimes I’d join them, and the three of us would dress up as fairy-tale characters and act out scenes. I once wore a cardboard crown while Daniel pretended to rescue us from a wicked witch.
Mason absolutely adored fairy tales, and Daniel loved seeing that look of wonder on his face.
But after Daniel died, the costumes stayed in the closet.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch them.
Bedtime became the hardest part of the day.
A few days ago, things started to feel strange.
That morning, I tried to wake Mason for daycare, but he buried his face in the pillow and started crying, saying he didn’t want to go.
I sat beside him and rubbed his back.
He rubbed his little eyes and said, “It’s just that Daddy read me a story last night. I went to bed late.”
For a moment, I thought I had heard him wrong.
My hand froze on his shoulder.
“What did you say?”
Mason sniffed.
Children react to grief in different ways. I had read that somewhere during one of those late nights when I couldn’t sleep.
So I forced a smile and nodded.
***
The next morning, things got worse.
Mason was eating cereal at the kitchen table.
Then he looked up at me and said, “Mommy, Daddy, and I finished reading the dinosaur book yesterday.”
My heart started pounding against my ribs.
I crouched beside him and tried to keep my voice calm.
“Sweetheart, Daddy couldn’t have finished the book with you… He passed away…”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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