My throat closed. Moira’s white, dismayed face turned quickly away, but not before I saw the tears welling in her eyes. Grief in children, I’ve learned, is like a murky pond. The true depths are hidden from sight even as brief glimpses bubble to the surface.

Josh’s therapist had warned me it would take a while for him to process Nate’s death. But he was a survivor. Like me.

“Shall we go down to the river?” Moira suggested.

“You guys go ahead. I have a little paperwork to finish up,” I replied.

“I don’t wanna go without Mommy.” Josh thrust his jaw out stubbornly.

“Go with Grandma,” I urged him. “I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

Moira took his hand, and I watched them walk away. After a moment, Josh sneaked a peek back at me. He smiled, just a small smile, the left corner of his mouth curving up just a little bit more than the right. With his floppy brown hair and bright-blue eyes and sunny smile, he suddenly looked so much like Nate it took my breath away. I missed him fiercely then, a hot ache squeezing through my middle.

Something moved in my peripheral vision, and when I turned I saw that a tiny black bird had landed on the picnic table. It stared at me, its beady eyes dark and judgmental.

I stared back, remembering the Native American story that Nate had told Josh before my world fell apart. The chief’s wife had thrown herself onto the rocks, sacrificing herself for the daughter she loved in order to save her life.

I’d sacrificed everything to save Josh.

That’s what a good mother does.

I pulled Ben’s red notebook out of my purse. It had been six months since I’d taken it out of the little hole I’d dug under a tree root near the warehouse.

Like my dad always said, sometimes you’re dealt a losing hand you might win, sometimes you’re dealt a winning hand you might lose. You never win if you fold, but sometimes it’s better to live to play another hand.

And my next hand was now.

The money Ben had given me had helped us get through until Nate’s life insurance payment had kicked in. But now even the life insurance money was almost gone, chipped away at as more and more medical bills arrived.

Now the bills were piling up. The fear of Josh relapsing always hovered nearby. I had to stay on top of this thing. Now that Nate was gone, Josh was all I had.

There were many in the oxy supply chain to blame for addiction, from manufacturers to distributors to pharmacies to the doctors all too ready to write a script. But until someone fixed it, I could use the failings of the system to help myself and my loved ones.