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There was really nothing special about this mold. Except it was our hands locked together. Only he didn’t exist anymore. Actually just in my life. Out there in the world, he must still exist. I hadn’t heard other wise. We had gone our separate ways when I hadn’t approved of his then fiance. He was just 23. I had wanted him to wait. Being a single parent was very difficult at times; especially moments like those when you could use another reassuring voice. He was adamant and left in a huff. He never returned. Keeping to his parting words, “Don’t ever follow me,” I never looked for him. Often, I was tempted to break the mold of our hands and part with the last memento I had kept. But I reminded myself, the memories of his childhood, of our wonderful times together, of his adoring moments, would be the stories I would continue to revel in and tell others. I would not talk of this void, this uneasy heart ache or the unnecessary pain I felt. Those would eventually leave and the stories of our shared happiness would last.