They were the same she and him, cut from the same cloth. She could practically read his thoughts. His stormy eyes flashed in her direction, stabbing her with the depth of his despair.
Her instinct was to console him. To touch his shoulder, to coo soft reassuring words, to smooth his tousled curls like she had when he was little.
Instead, she sat in silence, absorbing his pain, wrapping herself in the protective armor that is motherhood.
The hands of time had gently shifted her place, but she didn't fret. For everything was as it was meant to be.
With compassion in her soul and thankful heart, she lovingly stepped aside.
Her son, she knew, would be okay.
After all, he was in the very best of hands.
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