The Candle Labeled “To Brandon’s Girl”

“I told her,” Brandon said, very low, “to give my mother the little red box if this exact thing happened again.” I turned to him, sure I’d misheard.

“What little red box?” “The velvet one,” he said.

“It’s in the side pocket of Holly’s overnight bag.” I stared at his profile — the jaw set like poured concrete, the eyes never leaving our daughter — and I felt the ground of the morning shift under me, because I had been married to this man for two years and I had not known there was a plan.

“Brandon,” I whispered.