Sometimes, there’s no sense in trying, he said. It’s broke. You can’t fix it, he told her. People try every day. They wind up making it worse. Ends up in pieces, he looked out the window at their son wheeling around on his tricycle in the yard. He’ll understand.  Not now, but later. He’ll get it, the husband lit a cigarette with a shaky hand. 

Years from now, she said. It’ll take him years. 

Yeah.

Abandoned.  He’ll feel left behind.

We gotta do this. It’s at that point. They both nodded their heads. He looked out the window at the kid again. This time, he was drawing circles in the dirt, talking to himself. Singing a nursery rhyme.  Should we tell him? he asked.

No. I can’t say goodbye.

They left things behind. A couch, bed, clothes, small television, box of Graham Crackers. The couple walked out to the truck and drove away.