And every time I offered to actually come by, to spend an hour, to see the children, Evelyn turned me away, always gently, always with a reason.

“They’re sleeping right now, Christian.” “They’re sick today, they need rest.” “It’s not a good time.” I would offer to wait on the porch, and she would say no.

And then, one afternoon at her front gate, she found the reason that finally made me stop.

“Seeing you reminds them too much of their father,” she told me, with a sigh that seemed to carry the whole weight of her widowhood.

“It’s too hard on them, Christian.” And that one landed exactly where she meant it to.