I HEARD HIM SAY " DADDY"
“I’m alive.”
The words didn’t make the truth stronger, but they reminded me how fragile it was, and I pressed my fingers against the glass, cool, solid, real, tracing the small scar near my wrist—the one from a broken mug years ago—something stupid and ordinary, something only I would remember.
My ring caught the light, and I stared at it longer; if Sam still wore his, then everything had been planned down to the smallest detail, and he knew exactly which symbol would convince people: love, marriage, grief wrapped neatly in gold.