Every morning at 5:47 AM, I stir awake, half expecting the roar of an engine. Instead there is only the hollow quiet. I wonder if Frank still reaches for his keys out of habit, only to remember the ride is gone. He sold the Harley. My neighbors got their peace. But I traded true understanding for a shallow calm.
They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I didn’t realize what I destroyed until it was too late to rebuild. Sometimes, the price of a quiet street is a broken heart left to heal in private. Frank Morrison deserved better than my cruelty. Marie Morrison deserved her husband’s daily promise. And I? I deserve to carry this regret for the rest of my life.
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