Mason Sterling Drove to His Dead Wife’s Mountain House to Say Goodbye

That was the moment.

Not the first sight of them on the porch. Not the bath. Not June asleep against his shoulder.

That.

A little girl with dirt still hiding under her nails, offering comfort as if grief were something two people could divide between them and therefore survive.

Mason bowed his head.

When the tears came, he didn’t fight them.

Joy stayed right where she was, hand on his.

From the living room, June shouted triumphantly because she had found the box of crayons in the writing desk and believed this discovery to be a major event.

Mason laughed through tears.