Daniel looked back, but the man had already vanished inside Monica’s house. “Not sure. Can’t quite place him.”
Then Ben pulled him back toward the trees, and the passing cloud dissolved. Daniel rested a heavy hand on our son’s shoulder, gazing up through the canopy. “These trees will keep feeding you long after I’m gone.”
My stomach churned. “Daniel.”
“What?” He offered that familiar, disarming grin. “Trees live a long time.”
“Then talk about them lasting, not you vanishing.”
He squeezed my fingers when I stepped close. Twelve days later, my husband was dead.Try Marriage Counseling
The afternoon we returned from his funeral, I carried a sleeping Lily from the car while Ben trudged beside me, clutching Daniel’s faded baseball cap tightly against his chest. At first, the garden was a blur; my mind was consumed with getting the children inside, kicking off my heels, and surviving the agonizing silence of our first evening without him.
Then a twig snapped.
I froze.
Another rustle echoed from deep within the apple grove.
