The boy was apologetic.

It was not his fault. He was a kid. It happened a lot. These things happened a lot. And it was never ever the kid’s fault.

But he was apologetic; to his mum, to his dad, to his elder brother battling with not being able to have a child, to his younger sister dealing with her own dyslexia. He was apologetic because he wasn’t around anymore.

Maybe it was the time he forgot to pick up the laundry. Maybe it was when he mixed up his sister’s alphabet soup lunch and she skipped lunch. Maybe it was when he was supposed to meet his brother to help him move cities but he got caught up in playing CoD. Maybe it was when he wasn’t even around to cause the havoc. Maybe he was pulling the strings all along.

Maybe it was when he gave up at the hospital, following the horrible cancer.

He didn’t know how he managed to do it. But he was almost certain he did it. It was his fault. And he was so apologetic. Just dismal.

It was tough being dead, a child of divorce AND the reason his parents couldn’t look at each other anymore.


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