They were the tears of a person who has been holding his breath for so long he forgot he was doing it, being allowed, at last, to let it out.

Relief so deep it felt like the first full breath I had taken since November.

From her chair, Evelyn reached out both of her trembling hands.

“Come here,” she said.

“Both of you.

Come here to me.”

We went to her, and knelt on either side of the armchair, and she took Ethan’s left hand and my right hand in hers, and she drew them together over her lap until our fingers laced together, her two boys joined across her knees.

“Your mother and father would be so proud,” she said, and her voice did not shake now, not at all; it was steady and low and full of a faith I could not argue with.