Every Sunday, I take Jack to his father’s grave.
And that Sunday, when I followed his pointing finger, I finally saw it.
Mom helps with groceries and childcare.
A navy pilot’s cap sitting on the stone ledge.
I froze.
One side of its gold braid hung slightly lower than the other.
I’d repaired that braid myself. It was Dan’s cap.
The same cap nobody had found after the crash.
There’s one thing I never skip.
I picked it up with trembling hands, running my fingers over the crooked gold braid.