DEVON

The steam from the coffee maker rose in a swirling white cloud, blurring the kitchen window for a second.

I stood there, leaning against the counter, my hands wrapped around a ceramic mug that didn't quite provide enough heat for the chill in my bones.

It was a Tuesday morning in the middle of a brutal January. Most importantly, it was winter, the kind of winter that makes the house feel too big and the silence feel too heavy.

Four years.

It had been four years since I lost Rick, and sometimes it felt like it was four minutes.

Grief isn't a straight line; it’s a circle that keeps...