She felt it. The heartbeat. Steady and strong and unhurried, going on and on beneath her palm in the chest of this stranger who was no longer a stranger. Her son’s heart. Nine years old and still keeping perfect time. She looked at her hand. Then at Owen. Then, at some point beyond both of them. He’s still here, she thought. He never once stopped.
Richard appeared beside her. She didn’t know when he had come, only that his hand was on her shoulder and that she was more grateful for it than she had words for. Claire was on her other side a moment later, and Marcus behind Claire. The four of them and Owen existed briefly in a configuration all of them had in some way needed for a very long time.