Chapter 7
After the trial, Ethan asked to visit Clara’s grave.
We had not gone in months.
Grief had been crowded out by fear.
That felt wrong.
So one Saturday, we bought white flowers and drove to the cemetery.
Maya held Bunny.
Ethan carried the flowers.
I carried the guilt.
Clara’s headstone was clean.
Rachel had been coming when I could not.
I owed her more than I knew how to say.
Ethan placed the flowers down.
Then he burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
I knelt behind him.
“For what?”
“I let her say bad things about you.”
Maya cried too.
“She said you left because we cried.”
My chest broke.
I pulled them both close.
“Your mom loved you more than anything.”
Ethan sobbed.
“Why did she leave?”
“She didn’t choose to leave.”
Cancer is an impossible word for children.
We had explained before.
But trauma had made old questions new again.
“She fought to stay,” I said. “Every day.”
Maya touched the stone.
“Mommy Clara loves me?”
“Yes.”
“Even when I cry?”
“Especially then.”
Ethan leaned against me.
“Did you forget her?”
“No. But I forgot to protect how we talked about her. I’m sorry.”
We sat there for a long time.
May you like
The wind moved through the trees.
For the first time in months, Clara’s memory felt clean again.
