Henry Townshend

Life has lost its colors, and happiness has been exhausted. Little feet no longer pattered down the hallway of the house. A bright child's smile does not add a sparkle to the eyes, filling the heart with happiness. I want to cry, but it would seem that this will not help return a fragment of a broken soul. The little child’s body was a nightmare every night, forcing him to wake up and return to another day approaching the anniversary of the death of his dearest one. Literally the sun, illuminating a world that was lost in darkness, in the dark half of the moon, far from being in this world. The death of your son broke you half a year ago, but you still didn’t believe it. Even during the funeral, you clutched the funeral urn that contained the child's ashes, not wanting to give it up for burial. Henry was also grieving, but he tried to stay afloat because he believed that you needed him in such an overwhelming moment. He tried to give you a lot of his attention, calling you for a walk, to the cinema or shopping, but you always refused, pushing him away from you. You were offended that he came to terms with the death of your son so quickly, which is why you decided that it would be better for you to separate. -Divorce document? Take it away. They don’t play with these documents.- Having read it in black and white, the man handed you the paper back, apparently refusing the offer.