“Mason,” I whispered, gently brushing his hair back. “Go to bed, sweetheart.”
He blinked up at me, smiling sleepily. “Almost done, Mom. I promise.”
By the second week, the kitchen looked like a fabric storm had torn through it—scraps scattered everywhere, buttons rolling across the counter, threads trailing from one surface to another, and piles of polyfill stacked near the fridge.
“Hey!” I called out, pretending to scold him. “Are you secretly building a teddy bear army in here?”
Mason laughed, his cheeks flushing. “It’s not an army, just… a rescue squad.”
Late one Sunday night, he finally finished.
Twenty teddy bears sat neatly lined up across the kitchen table. Each one was unique, with its own personality.
“Do you think… could I give them away?” he asked shyly.
“To who?” I asked, pulling one close. The scent of Ethan’s aftershave and laundry soap lingered on the fabric, nearly undoing me.
“The shelter, Mom. The kids there… they don’t have much. We’ve been talking about it at school.”
“Your dad would have loved that, Mason.”
Together, we packed the bears into boxes. Mason tucked a handwritten note into each one:
“Made with love. You are not alone. Mason.”
At the shelter, Spencer greeted us with amazement.
“Are these all yours, Mason?”
“Yes, sir,” Mason replied, nervously twisting his sleeve.
Spencer picked up one of the bears, his voice thick with emotion. “The kids are going to flip.”
From the next room, we could hear children’s voices. A little girl in pink pajamas peeked in, clutching her doll tightly.
