Alexander thought carefully.
“Yes,” he said. “I think we will.”
Oliver looked worried.
“Forever?”
Alexander nodded.
“But missing someone doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. We can miss Mommy and still laugh. We can remember her and still make wonderful new memories.”
Oliver smiled sleepily.
“Like pancakes?”
“Exactly like pancakes.”
A few minutes later, Oliver fell asleep.
Alexander remained beside him, listening to his steady breathing.
Then he kissed his son’s forehead and switched off the lamp.
Before leaving, he noticed something on the bedside table.
A glass of warm milk.
Oliver had asked the housekeeper to leave it there earlier.
Beside it lay the little drawing from Elizabeth House.
Alexander picked up the picture.
On the back, Oliver had written five words in uneven handwriting.
Mommy, we are okay now.
Alexander sat down again.
He held the drawing against his chest.
And he cried.
Not with the helplessness that had consumed him after Elizabeth’s death.
Not with the guilt that had driven him into endless work.
But with the quiet relief of a man who had finally found his way home.
The following spring, Hannah graduated from her first year of nursing school with honors.
Alexander and Oliver attended the small student recognition ceremony.
When Hannah stepped onto the stage, Oliver clapped louder than anyone.
Afterward, he ran to her holding a bunch of yellow flowers.
“These are for you!”
