Sometimes I cried too, not because I regretted anything, but because happiness could arrive alongside grief and neither feeling canceled the other.

I worried about her breathing.

I worried when she slept.

I checked the locks more than once at night.

My counselor helped me understand that surviving danger did not mean my body immediately understood it had ended.

Renata would make tea, sit with me in the kitchen, and tell me about something ordinary that had happened that day.

A neighbor’s dog had stolen a garden glove.

The grocery store was out of her favorite bread.