“I do know it,” she muttered. “It’s one of many reasons . . . I love you . . . so much.” She took a long moment to try to catch her breath, as if the effort to say that much had taken all her strength.

“I will always love you, Kat; always. It breaks my heart to lose you this way.” He couldn’t hold back tears, but if a man couldn’t cry when his wife was dying, when could he cry? It wasn’t as if he’d ever been opposed to crying when he needed to, anyway.

“I know it, Henry,” she whispered, her strength waning, “I do. But you mustn’t pine for me. It’s my time; I know it is. I . . . feel peace . . . over leaving. You must find . . . the same peace. God will comfort your heart . . . if you let Him. Promise me . . . that you will let God . . . into you heart. Be sad for a time if you must, but . . . don’t be angry. Promise me.”

Henry marveled at the profound depth of insight he was hearing and inwardly chided himself for the times he’d believed Kat wasn’t necessarily a deep thinker. She understood life and the world around her far more than he’d given her credit.

“I promise,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t be easy, but still a far easier promise to keep than that which she’d tricked him into making earlier. He couldn’t think about that.

“And Henry,” she said, at the same time grimacing, while her difficulty in breathing became more evident, “you mustn’t think that . . . you have to wait . . . to move on.” While he wondered if she meant what he thought she meant, she forced her eyes open more fully and gave him a penetrating gaze he would surely never forget. “Move on . . . with your life, Henry. Don’t . . . worry about . . . what anyone else thinks. Just . . . listen to your heart . . . trust it . . . follow it.” Her eyes closed as if they’d reached their limit. “Don’t think . . . that you need to . . . honor my memory . . . by waiting.”

Kat sighed and offered a weak squeeze to Henry’s hand, as if to conclude the last of what she wanted him to know. Her eyes flickered open for only a long moment more as she added, “I love you, Henry. You’ve been . . . so good to me; . . . made me . . . so happy. Remember . . . only that.”

“I love you too, my darling,” he said and kissed her brow, her closed eyelids, and her cheek, even while he noted the evidence that she was no longer able to suppress evidence of how much she was hurting.