“So,” he asked gently. “What brings you to Montana?”
I hesitated, unsure of how to say the words without falling apart.
“My son,” I said quietly.
“Danny. He passed away last week. A drunk driver changed my entire world.
We’re burying him here.”
Eli didn’t speak right away. His face shifted, the warmth in it folding into something quieter, more solemn.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice tight.
“He was 38,” I continued. “Bright, funny, and so stubborn.
I think he was the best parts of Robert and myself.”
“That’s not fair. Not at all,” Eli said, lowering his eyes.
“I know,” I said. “But death doesn’t care about fairness…
and grief is suffocating.”
A beat passed before I spoke again.
“There was a time I thought saving one life would protect mine. That if I did something good, something right… it would come back around.”
He looked at me then, his gaze steady.
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