Still, the warning was unmistakable as a warning.

It did not belong to the husband who had left home joking about three weeks.

It belonged to a moment I had not been allowed to see.

I put the ring on a clean cloth from my bag and looked again at the urn.

The inner bag remained sealed.

I closed the lid.

I was not going to scatter Patrick’s ashes while holding a question I could no longer ignore.

I wanted to carry out our promise, but not while pretending I understood the story surrounding his return.