it occurs to me that Hugh and I, perhaps for the longest time, have been involved in a dance, choreographed by my grief. It’s been me leading it, every step of the way. Always choosing the music. Always picking the pace. He’s followed so closely that there have been times when it’s felt like he was the one leading. The day I lost the baby. My first day back at work after Cam’s funeral. First year back, probably. Each time I lost my way, everything kept turning, like magic. And now he’s sitting across from me, looking at me in a way that he never has before—not once in four years, until the
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