Winter Garden

by Kristin Hannah

It is a kiss that, once begun, never really ends. Interrupted, yes. Paused, certainly. But from that very moment onward,

sex could mean many things; one of them was good-bye.

She’d lost too much of herself in parenthood to simply go back to who she’d been before.

Words mattered.

Every choice changed the road you were on and it was too easy to end up going in the wrong direction.

“We women make choices for others, not for ourselves, and when we are mothers, we . . . bear what we must for our children. You will protect them. It will hurt you; it will hurt them. Your job is to hide that your heart is breaking and do what they need you to do.”

Has she told them everything? Keep your coat; winter comes on fast, even though they say you’ll be back in a week. Never be apart from each other. Brush your teeth. Eat your food. All of it. And get to the front of the line at every meal. Watch out for each other. I love you. At that, Vera stumbles, almost falls. She didn’t tell them she loved them. She’d been afraid it would make them all cry harder, so she’d withheld the precious words, the only ones that really mattered.

“To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.”