His mother squishing Brody’s face against her and Brody radiating happiness as he introduced me to his mom and dad. They could have been six months into mourning that day, their son dead and buried in a snow-covered grave, and instead of warm smiles and his father’s certainty that Brody had always been destined for greatness, all there would have been was a cold headstone and an endless, echoing why. Why, why, why.
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