Halyn's+Aftermath

When Bayle had finally realized, after months of denial, that his wife would not be coming home, he called Elio over to the kitchen table.

“Elio, we need to talk about something,” Bayle said gravely to his son, who was creating an invisible drawing on the table with his finger.

“What is it, Daddy?” the young child asked in an unfazed voice.

Bayle took a deep and shuddering breath and scooped his son’s hands up in his own. “It’s about your mother. I don’t think she’s coming home to us.”

“What do you mean?” Elio asked, looking up at his father with his pure and innocent eyes set wide open in their place.

“I think mommy might have decided to go to sleep for a while.” Bayle paused. “A long while. And I think we might not be able to see her for a long while, not until we decide to go to sleep as well,” Bayle explained, never having been particularly good at teaching Elio about grown up matters. In his heart, though, he knew that he was sparing his child the kind of hurt that nobody should have to endure that young. Elio could know, Bayle decided, when he had come of age. He could never know before then.

“That’s okay, Daddy. I go to sleep every night!” Elio replied eagerly.

Bayle couldn’t help but smile at his son. “I’m glad you understand, kiddo.”