There is a razor-thin edge between justice and revenge, where the two easily blur if left unchecked. Five years after her husband’s murder, Madison James was still trying to discover which side of the line she was on—though maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing she did was going to bring Luke back.
Her pulse raced as she sprinted the final dozen yards of her morning run, needing the release of endorphins to pick up her mood and get her through the day. At least she had the weather on her side. After weeks of spring rains, typical for the Pacific Northwest, the sun was finally out, showing off blue skies and a stunning view of Mount Rainier in the distance. Spring had also brought with it the bright yellow blooms of the Oregon grape shrubs, planted widely throughout Seattle, along with colorful wild currants.
You couldn’t buy that kind of therapy.
Nearing the end of the trail, she slowed down and grabbed her water bottle out of her waist pack. Seconds later, her sister, Danielle, stopped beside her and leaned over, hands on her thighs, as she caught her breath.
“Not bad for your second week back on the trail,” Madison said, capping her bottle and putting it back in her pack. She stretched out one of her calves. “It won’t be long before you’re back up to your old distances.”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to think it’s going to take more than running three times a week to work off these pounds.” Danielle let out a low laugh. “Does chasing a toddler around the house, planning my six-year-old’s birthday, hosting our father for a few days, and pacing the floor with a colicky baby count as exercise?”
“That absolutely all counts.” Madison stretched the other side. “And as for the extra weight, that baby of yours is worth every pound you gained. Besides, you still look terrific.”
Danielle chuckled, pulling out her water bottle and taking a swig. “If this is looking terrific, I can’t imagine what a good night’s sleep would do.”
“You’ll get back to your old self in a few weeks.”
“That’s what Ethan keeps telling me.”
Madison stopped stretching and put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it all. You’re Superwoman, as far as I’m concerned.”
Danielle laughed. “Yep, if you consider changing diapers and making homemade playdough superpowers. You, on the other hand, actually save lives every day.”
“You’re raising the next generation.” Madison caught her sister’s gaze. “Never take lightly the importance of being a mom. And you’re one of the best.”
“How do you always know what to say?” Danielle dropped her water bottle back into its pouch. “But what about you? You haven’t mentioned Luke yet today.”
Madison frowned. She knew her sister would bring him up eventually. “That was on purpose. Today I’m celebrating your getting back into shape and the stunning weather. I have no intention of spending the day feeling sorry for myself.”
Danielle didn’t look convinced. “That’s fine. Just make sure you’re not burying your feelings, Maddie.”
“I’m not. Trust me.” Madison hesitated, hoping her attempt to sound sincere rang true. “Between grief counseling and support from people like my amazing sister, I’m a different person today. And I should be. It’s been five years.”
“Despite what they say, time doesn’t heal all wounds.”
Madison blinked back the memories. Five years ago today, two officers had been waiting for her when she got home to tell her that they were sorry but her husband had been shot and pronounced dead at the scene. They’d never found his killer, and life after that moment had never been the same.
Madison shook her head, blocking out the memories for the moment. She started walking toward the parking lot where they’d left their cars. She’d heard every cliché there was about healing and quickly learned to dismiss most of them. Her healing journey couldn’t be wrapped up in a box or mapped out with a formula. Loss changed everything and there was no way around it. There was no road map to follow that led you directly out of the desert.
“Did you go to the gravesite today?” Danielle asked, matching Madison’s pace.
“Not yet.”
She slowed her pace slightly. Every year on the anniversary of Luke’s death, she’d taken flowers to his grave. But for some reason, she hadn’t planned to go this year. And she wasn’t even sure why. She’d been told how grief tended to evolve. The hours and days after Luke’s death had left her paralyzed and barely functioning, until one day,