What We Don’t See (Until We Do)

On milk stains, teenage goodbyes, and the slow noticing of change

At the top of the stairs, I can see a milk stain on the carpet. Ink spot blotches of Frosties overspill. Dropped by my teenager, oblivious to the runoff, and the remnants.

I didn’t notice when it first appeared. Walked over and on it to the bathroom, my bedroom, and the airing cupboard, countless times. It might have been there for weeks, for days, such …