Having flown the nest, two of our sons are now back under our roof – and the third lives just around the corner
It is late on Saturday morning, and the oldest one and I are sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table, staring at our laptops in silence. We are silent because we are both working on the same puzzle, and neither of us wants any help from the other at this point.
The front door opens and my wife comes in, bringing with her the middle one and all his worldly possessions. Only the youngest one, the last to leave, has yet to return home, but he lives just minutes away and, like the other two, he has a key.
