When I was eight years old, my mother was sent to the hospital. She was really sick, and my father took me to visit her every once in a while. But one day, he came home with sad news. “I’m sorry, Josh, your mother is gone,” he said.
I cried inconsolably that night, but Dad told me that we had to pack. “Where are we going?” I asked.
My mom spent a long time in the hospital, and then my dad said she died. | Source: Shutterstock
“We can’t stay in this town any longer with so many memories of your mother. We have to move and get a fresh start if we have a chance at getting over this loss,” he answered. So I helped out while crying for my mother and got in the car a few hours later.
We drove for what seemed like the longest time and eventually reached a house that wasn’t that different from the other one. “You’ll love it here, and you’ll make tons of new friends around the neighborhood,” he told me.
But a few days after moving in, a woman started showing up all the time. “Josh, this is Erika, a great friend,” my father introduced us.
My father married another woman quickly. | Source: Pexels
“It’s nice to meet you, Erika,” I said.
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