Now that Kat was gone and the family no longer had the need to spend time at her bedside, Harry became the center of attention even more than he always had been, and every member of the family became drawn to him. He was a literal part of Kat that lived on, and to Henry he was living proof of the love that he and Kat had shared. This precious child was a soothing balm to everyone who loved and missed Kat. Even while grief hung heavy in the air, Harry could make them all laugh with his funny expressions and comical noises. He had come to be able to focus more on what he could see, and he’d often smile or make sweet googling sounds when he was spoken to. The family could be entertained and distracted every moment that Harry wasn’t sleeping or eating simply by passing him around and savoring the joy he offered so freely without even trying. Henry marveled at this great gift that Kat had left behind, and he knew the others felt the same way. And he felt pleased with the way that Kat’s parents expressed their gratitude to have Henry living in their home, knowing that Harry would be raised there under the same roof and they would always have the privilege of being a part of his life. Nothing could make Henry happier in regard to his son; he knew he couldn’t raise him alone, and this arrangement of sharing a home had never felt more right than it did now. Perhaps without Harry he might have felt out of place here now that Kat was gone, but, if anything, he felt all the more as if he belonged with these people. Given how he’d never felt completely at home in the house where he’d been raised, he considered that to be a miracle.

Henry dreaded the funeral, and he hated every minute of it. The only thing he found redeeming in the experience was the beauty of the flowers surrounding Kat’s casket during the service, and even more beautiful were the three women—Viola, Amala, and Paulina—all dressed exquisitely in black. He didn’t know why he felt so fascinated by the way they looked dressed that way, all hovering together, their faces heavy with grief, but he found it difficult not to watch them, especially when doing so kept him distracted from listening to the vicar—a man he loathed—saying words about his wife’s life and death that felt hollow and meaningless. Henry knew for himself the real truth of those things; he didn’t need this self-righteous hypocrite pretending to actually care about what was taking place.