If I’d had my way, she wouldn’t have. She would have been with me. We would have stayed up all night trading stories of her brother. Ones we both know, and ones we never heard. I would have held her as she grieved him all over again, and maybe we would have paid a visit to him too. Maybe, we would have met Nic and Sloane there and stood in a half circle around his headstone, infusing his final resting place with love and promises of sustained friendship and lifelong bonds.
