They both played with the baby and said very little to each other until Harry began to fuss, which they knew was the signal that he was hungry and ready for his morning nap. Harry was turned over to the wet nurse, and Amala put a hand on Henry’s arm to stop him before he could leave the room. He looked at her hand, then her face, and she distinctly saw her own fear reflected in his eyes. He surely knew every bit as much as she did that they needed to talk, and he was likely dreading it too. Amala felt tempted to dismiss it for now, to wait, to simply say something kind and let him go. But she reminded herself that this was only going to get worse until it was addressed, and it likely wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as they were both imagining.

“I need to talk to you,” she implored quietly, even though no one else was in the room and they wouldn’t be overheard. “Is now a good time, or—”

“Now is fine,” he said, but he didn’t sound happy about it.

Amala nodded and led the way through a series of halls to the sitting room just off of Kat’s bedroom. She’d considered the best place for them to have this conversation. If they went to the library or one of the parlors, they were more likely to be interrupted. This room felt neutral, and yet it had a nearness to Kat that seemed appropriate.

Amala sat down on one of the small sofas, and Henry sat down across from her, crossing his ankle over his knee and staring at her as if he dared her to say something that could ease his own heartache. She prayed that might be possible. Knowing she needed to focus this conversation on her feelings, as opposed to expecting him to open up about his, she took a deep breath and began.

“I’m not going to state all of the things that are already clearly obvious, but—”

“Such as?” he interrupted.

“You want me to state what is obvious?” she asked.

“Maybe what’s obvious to me isn’t obvious to you—or the other way around. What makes you think my struggles and my grief are the same as yours?”

Amala drew in another long breath with more difficulty. “Very well. What I believe to be obvious is that . . . you and I are both struggling to make peace with Kat’s death and at the same time come to terms with her final wish and how it has brought up some dramatic complications for both of us. Our experiences and our feelings may vary, of course. But I believe that is the basis of the problem.”

“All right,” he said. “I agree with that. I just want to be clear that we’re talking about the same thing.”