I kissed my wife goodbye and watched her drive off to work

profound, aching sadness for my wife.

For the sixteen-year-old girl who had been forced to mourn a living sister.

For the woman who had been carrying this impossible burden all alone.

“Where is she?” I asked softly.

Sarah looked at me, her eyes filled with a fragile hope.

“In the guest room.”

She led me to the door and knocked gently.

A soft voice, barely continue reading …