“You have your money back,” I said to the empty room, “but you no longer have a son.”

I could hear how final it sounded.

I didn’t know what I would feel in a year.

I knew what boundary I needed that afternoon.

He put the car in drive.

I watched until the red taillights disappeared beyond the corner.

Then I let the curtain fall and put the kettle on.

EPILOGUE — Red Roses Before Winter