Then I opened the box.
Two weeks later, Grace came to my house in the rain.
She held a cashier’s check in one hand and a box in the other.
“This is the first repayment,” she said.
I took the check.
Then I opened the box.
Inside was Liam’s watch, a tie clip, and a few other small things. She had helped me pack his belongings two days after the funeral. I hadn’t even noticed what was missing.
Then I opened the box.
My throat tightened. “You took these?”
She nodded. “I wanted something of his.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled. “Because he was the only person brave enough to stop me.”
I stared at her for a long time.
Then I said, quietly, “You don’t get to grieve him like you didn’t help break what he was trying to protect.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
The kids still asked questions I couldn’t fully answer.
She didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Months passed.
I stopped sleeping on Liam’s side of the bed.
I folded his sweatshirt and put it away.
The kids still asked questions I couldn’t fully answer.
One night Ava asked, “Did Daddy know we loved him?”
“Every day,” I said.
