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“Because life is a prickly pear,” she tries. “It’s always going to be beautiful and painful.”
She holds the piece beside the completed picture on the box: the gray ocean breaking against jagged rocks. Rosemary’s piece is part of the stormy sky. She slots it into place. One by one, they put the pieces where they belong, until it’s after midnight and the puzzle is finished. Until they’re both crying over all the things Joe will never see come together.
