Mason laughed, cheeks flushed. “It’s not an army, just… a rescue squad.”
He finished late Sunday night. Twenty teddy bears sat lined across the table, each with its own personality.
He looked at me, suddenly unsure. “Do you think… could I give them away?”
“To who?” I asked, picking one up. The scent of Ethan’s aftershave and laundry soap almost broke me.
“The shelter, Mom. The kids there… they don’t have much. We’ve been talking about the place at school.”
“Do you think… could I give them away?”
“Your dad would have loved that, Mason.”
We packed them together, Mason slipping a handwritten note into each:
“Made with love. You are not alone. Mason.”
At the shelter, Spencer greeted us with surprise. “Are these all yours, Mason?”
Mason nodded, twisting his sleeve. “Yes, sir.”
Spencer picked up a bear, voice thick. “The kids are going to flip.”
Children’s voices echoed nearby. A little girl in pink pajamas peeked around the corner.
“Your dad would have loved that, Mason.”
Mason knelt. “Go on, pick one. They’re for you.”
Her face lit up. “Thank you!”
Spencer smiled at me. “You’re raising a good one, Catherine.”
I squeezed Mason’s shoulder. “He gets it from his dad. Ethan never did anything halfway.”
Mason watched the children hugging their bears, eyes shining. For a moment, the heaviness lifted.
Spencer showed us around—the sewing corner, an old machine, worn quilts.
“You’re raising a good one, Catherine.”
“You sew here? Really?”
Spencer laughed. “We try.”
Mason knelt, examining the machine. “Maybe I could help sometime?”
“We’d love that. Some of the older kids would love that too!”
On the drive home, Mason was quiet—but different.
“Did you have fun, son?”
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