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Denial
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You tripped, is what you tell yourself. A rock, a root, an uneven board on the bridge; you don't remember what it was but something must have made you trip. Yes, that's it. Your foot caught on something, whatever it was, and the force caused you to let go of that precious bundle in your arms, your little baby boy. Sweet, beautiful thing. His eyes bright and golden against the pure dark blue of his soft skin. He looked up at you with such innocence, such wonder; an absolute trust that you'd never seen in anyone's eyes before when looking at you and probably never will again. For that reason it only makes sense that you tripped; you would never let him drop over that bridge, into the water, not your infant son. And that is what you tell yourself to make you feel better. But if that's the truth, why are you now on a plane flying alone back to New York, instead of in Germany looking for him? Could it be that despite what you tell yourself, perhaps you are thinking that he is maybe better off without you?