“You wanted a quiet life with me at the base of this mountain,” he said. “We would have a farm and you would teach magic the way it was meant to be taught.” “How quaint,” I said, managing to laugh despite how much I cried. The irony wasn’t lost on me—the life I had wanted then and the life I had now. “You named our children,” he said, and the silence that followed his statement shattered my heart. They were the children we would never have. “What were their names?” I whispered. I knew he remembered, knew he clung to the memory of them though they never existed. “Cora, for a girl,” he said, and
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