The path rose gently toward Simon’s grave.

I walked more slowly than I once would have, conscious of my pregnancy and of the habit I still had of trying to finish every task before admitting I needed to rest.

I stopped when I needed to.

At the headstone, I placed the photograph against the base and stood looking at it.

Two boys.

They had once occupied the same small piece of the world.

Then adults, placements, records, and years separated them until one believed he had no one left and the other lived a life he never got to share with him.