“You know,” Ash muses. “Love and death are so similar. The beginning. The end. It’s all a mystery. An unknown. Both are always on our minds. We don’t control the ride, the ride controls us. And no matter how hard we prepare, no matter how much we think we’ve got this, we can’t escape. Love. Or death.” She fiddles with the edge of a napkin, swallows back the emotion bubbling up inside her. “But finding the grace to get back to one another, to understand, to forgive, is another kind of love on its own. It’s not death.”
