Ryan hated losing stories. As he lay in the bath, Spotify at 7, the story came, fully formed. Even the middle, which was always hardest.
It was about people being nice to one other. That’s all he remembers, because the story’s gone now.
Whenever a bath-time story bubbled up, he’d normally write it down pronto. But today was his birthday and he was too busy being happy. That’s how he lost it.
Negligence, poor attention… Ryan was the child-minder who got pissed and didn’t notice the baby stopped breathing.
But that last remark is just a metaphor for loss, thankfully.