Later, after the room had emptied and the chairs were being stacked, Evelyn took Caroline from Naomi’s arms and kissed her daughter’s forehead. Outside, autumn light stretched gold across the lot. June approached with the practical impatience of a woman who respected emotional milestones but not enough to let them interfere with dinner.
“Your daddy would be proud,” she said.
Evelyn looked down at her daughter’s tiny hand wrapped around one finger.
“I hope so.”
June sniffed. “I don’t hope. I know. Now come on. Those cookies in there were stale and I want something decent.”
Evelyn laughed.
There was still sadness in her life. There always would be. Memory remained. Scar tissue remained. Some nights her body still woke before her mind understood why. But now those things lived beside joy instead of strangling it.
And above all else, there was this:
Her daughter, warm against her chest.
