They sat together by the grave as the clouds parted. The air smelled of wet earth and lilies. Anna reached into her pocket and pulled out a small car. Its paint was chipped, and the wheels were loose. “This was one was his favorite,” she said. “I think it’s time I gave it back.”
She placed it carefully beside the stone, fingers trembling. Ellen reached out, covering her hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. For the first time in years, her grief didn’t feel like drowning. It was like breathing again. Two mothers, in different ways, letting go of the same child.