She just gets to rest somewhere as beautiful as she was.” Together, our hands overlapping on the brass lip, we tilted it into the sea wind.

The fine silver dust caught the air and scattered across the cresting waves like light breaking apart, and the ocean opened and took her, carrying her out toward the horizon she had always loved.

Nia leaned her head against my shoulder, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, and we stayed there a long time while the sea went from gold to deep indigo.

I didn’t cry tears of sorrow that evening.

For two years grief had felt like an iron cage.

But standing there with my daughter, watching the water take the ashes, I felt something I had almost forgotten — a deep, settling peace.