And somewhere in that collision of sorrow and warmth, he understood the first true thing he had learned since Beatrice died:
Pain did not leave because life became fair.
Pain made room because life insisted on continuing.
Monday morning arrived in a white county SUV.
Claire Donnelly stepped out first—mid-fifties, practical shoes, clipboard, tired eyes that had seen too much and trusted very little. A deputy came with her, polite and silent.
The girls reacted before Claire even reached the steps.
June and Joy moved behind Mason so fast they nearly tangled each other, each grabbing one of his legs with panicked force.
Claire noticed everything.
That, Mason realized immediately, was both her job and her defense.
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