He paused.
“But I’ll never forget hers.”
Then he looked at the grass beside the grave.
“Can I tell you what happened?”
Everything inside me wanted to say no.
I wanted to walk away.
I wanted to protect the memory of my wife from whatever complicated story was about to be revealed.
But something about his voice stopped me.
So I sat down.
He sat across from me.
Two strangers on opposite sides of Emily’s grave.
I was her husband of twenty years.
He was a man I’d never met.
Yet somehow, he knew something about my wife that I didn’t.
His name was Mike.
He was 47 years old.
He worked as a mechanic.
And he was a single father.
His daughter, Kylie, had been diagnosed with leukemiawhen she was only nine years old.
For Mike, the diagnosis was devastating.
But the medical bills were almost as terrifying as the disease itself.
