“They don’t get it, buddy,” I said softly. “They never did.”
I looked around the room, taking in the books, the drawings, the little pieces of him that still felt so alive here.
My eyes landed on the map of Europe tacked to his wall. Belgium was circled in bright red marker.
“We were supposed to go,” I whispered.
“You and me.
The museums, the castles, the beer monks.” I chuckled softly, my voice breaking. “You really had it all planned out.”
The ache in my chest deepened, but then something shifted. A new thought, a new resolve.
I opened my laptop and logged into the 529 Plan account.
As I stared at the balance, I knew what to do.
That money wasn’t for Ryan. It wasn’t for anyone else.
It was for Peter. For us.
“I’m doing it,” I said aloud.
“Belgium.
Just like we said.”
A week later, I was on a plane, Peter’s photo tucked safely in my jacket pocket. The seat beside me was empty, but it didn’t feel that way. I gripped the armrest as the plane lifted off, my heart pounding.
“Hope you’re here with me, kid,” I whispered, glancing at his picture.
The trip was everything we’d dreamed of.
I walked through grand museums, stood in awe at towering castles, and even visited a brewery run by monks.
I imagined Peter’s excitement, crooked grin, and endless questions at every stop.
On the last night, I sat by the canal, the city lights reflecting on the water. I pulled out Peter’s photo and held it up to the view.
“This is for you,” I said quietly.
“We made it.”
For the first time in months, the ache in my chest felt lighter. Peter was gone, but he was with me.
And this — this was our dream.
I wouldn’t let anyone take it away.
Source: amomama
