Here’s a shortened version while keeping the core meaning:
There are moments that divide your life: before and after. I’ve had a few: losing my first husband when my son, Coby, was a baby, and finding love again six months later.
I’m Edith, 35, and Coby’s everything to me. His father died in a car crash when Coby was eight months old. The year that followed is a blur of grief, bottles, and me sleepwalking through life.
Then came Dave, my late husband’s friend’s brother. He was kind, patient, and never made me feel broken. He loved Coby like his own, though we never told Coby the truth. The “right time” never came.
When Coby turned 10, he started pulling away. He was distant, barely talking to me, and grades slipped. One night, I discovered he was upset after hearing about his father at school. I had kept the truth from him for too long, and he didn’t know how to process it.
Coby and Dave had gone to Mark’s grave, where Dave shared memories of my late husband. Coby had learned the truth about his real father. He was upset, but they talked, and Coby finally felt he could trust us again.
We promised no more secrets. We were a family, and we would be okay.
This keeps the heart of the story intact but is more concise. Let me know if you’d like any further edits!
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