Instead of finding Adam in his room, I found a letter, neatly tucked in one of his favorite books. He usually read after school, sitting there in the bay window. The sun shone in neatly, illuminating the book and the envelope as if some divine sign. I sat and pulled the paper from the pages, smirking. Adam was always playing tricks like this on us; hiding, running, seeking to be found. The psychiatrist said it was attention seeking behavior from the divorce and would resolve itself in a few years. He’d never left a letter before, though.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” I read in the handwriting of my son. My heart began to feel light, as if I were reading a diary entry, but this was addressed to me, which somehow made it all even worse. “I’ve tried and tried to stay here with you and for you, but i can’t do it any more.” There were a few more lines but I stood and rushed from the room. “Adam?”

I ran through the house, screaming my son’s name. I was met with his own scream as he fell from the roof. Then, total silence unlike anything I had ever heard.