of my dreams come true. Know that I was filled with joy and love and gratitude for every day that I got with you.
True love, like ours, transcends time and space. Even if I’m not physically here, I’m still loving you from afar. If you need me, close your eyes and look within. I’ll be there. My love will always be there because you own every piece of it.
I love you forever.
Leo
I blink away my tears as I read the last few lines. My eyes swell from crying, and I gasp for breath. I set the letter down on the table and wrap my arms around my middle. Closing my eyes, I search for him.
I love you, Leo. I need you to help me get through this. I’m dying without you. I miss you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I rock in the chair, searching my heart for him. I feel it—the love. My body warms, and my breathing calms. He’s here. He’s always here.
I can do hard things.
I will survive this.
I am loved.
The thoughts come to me, and I think that maybe my inner strength is cheering me on, but I can’t deny that it’s him. It’s always been him.
FIFTY-THREE
Alma
Leo’s been gone two months. I still ache for him every second of every day. My body still mourns him, and I can barely hold down food. But I’m trying to live. I’m trying to be happy. It’s going to be a while before I can feel happiness, so for now, I’m putting one foot in front of the other. I’m taking it one day at a time.
I’m showing up. I’m leaving the house. Checking on Lion’s Lair. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Eating. Trying. I spend more time not crying than sobbing, so I consider that progress. I reread Leo’s letter each day, and it helps me feel like he’s still here. I believe that part of him is.
I’ve had lunch with Quinn, Amos, Ollie, and Cat over the past month, which is also progress. It’s been good to talk to people who love me or Leo. I don’t feel as alone as I did, and the truth is that I’m not alone.
The extravagant amount of money that Leo left me is going to remain untouched—for now. Maybe, someday, I’ll use that money to expand Lion’s Lair to other cities or use it for other forms of good. At this moment, all I can focus on is getting up, putting one foot in front of the other, and going through the motions, and that’s enough.
Standing in front of the new bathroom mirror, I brush my teeth to get ready for the day. My gaze keeps dropping to the spot where Leo’s electric toothbrush and charger sat. Two weeks ago, I finally threw them out. Nothing says desperate widow like holding on to an old toothbrush. There’s still a water ring against the granite where the toothbrush sat, reminding me that it’s been quite some time since I cleaned the bathroom.
You can do hard things, I remind myself.
A small chuckle teases my lips as I think about what my life has come to. I used to love cleaning; it was my happy time.
That’s it. I’m going to blare some music and deep clean the house today. It will feel good—or if not good, then normal. I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speakers. An upbeat Post Malone song plays through the house. I reach under the sink to grab the tile cleaner and knock over a box of tampons.
My mouth falls open, and I step away from the sink, hitting my back against the wall.
No, it can’t be. It’s not possible.
I recall buying the box over two and a half months ago, before Leo’s death, but there’s no way. It has to be the stress. Women skip periods all the time because of stress, and Lord knows I’ve been under a lot of it.
But what if …
I snatch my phone, purse, and car keys and run out of the house.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m home from the pharmacy and in the bathroom, peeing on a white stick. I pace up and down the hall, waiting for the allotted four minutes. Finally, I step into the bathroom and peek at the plastic wand lying on the countertop.
Pregnant.
The single word is displayed clear as day through the oval window.
It can’t be. I shake my head and pick up the test. It says pregnant. A sob erupts from my throat, and