“I just—I just thought it was unfair,” he mumbled, finally finding his voice. There was a vulnerability in his tone that I hadn’t heard in years. It was as if, underneath all the anger, there was a little boy who was just scared and sad.

I stepped closer, careful not to startle him. “We’re both grieving, Gavin. But this isn’t the way to honor her memory.”

The group around us began to soften, their expressions shifting from stern judgment to understanding. The bridge between us, long thought burned, maybe had a chance of being rebuilt.