“The marble headstone’s coming from the shop in Bloomington next Wednesday,” Helen said quietly, her hand resting on her clipboard.

“I told the stonemason to carve the verse she picked.”

I touched the cold rim of the brass marker with my fingertips.

For forty-five years I’d thought Margaret had simply stopped caring for a young seminary student and turned away from our small town to make a life in the city with Kade.

I’d spent decades wondering what fault in my own heart had pushed her away.

Now I knew what really happened.