“I, uhh—” Jack swallowed, and he edged around his desk, not looking at Ethan. “I need to be with my wife.” He swallowed a tiny whimper. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But I need to help her. She’s my wife. And I abandoned her once already. I can’t—” A weight pressed against Ethan’s thigh, hanging in his pocket. A small box, and within it, a fragile hope. He’d dreamed that one day Jack would call him his, that he would be Jack’s “my husband.” The glaciers moving over his soul slipped into his heart, covering all the spaces where Jack had lived, where he’d breathed life and love and bright laughter
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