“I feel awful,” she says as we walk side by side. “I didn’t tell your husband congratulations when he came by last week. He must’ve thought I was so rude.”

I skip up the steps as we approach the office. “It’s fine. We didn’t want to make a big deal of it.” This sounds ridiculous considering we eloped in Vegas with active paparazzi standing right outside the chapel doors. “I mean, it’s a busy time for both of us. We just didn’t see the point in waiting for a big wedding and wanted to have a little fun. It was pretty informal.”

“I just saw the picture. His jersey was a cute informal touch.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Please tell my mother that.”

Abby cackles. “My husband and I also eloped.”

“Did you?” I ask. “Was your family on board with it?”

Abby’s shoulders shift side to side as we step through the small reception area, which I realize I’ve never been in even after all this time. “I didn’t tell them for a year, even though it was well after my sister had died. I just… they’ve never been the same. But they’re happy for us. It will always be a different kind of happy though.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you lost a sister.”

“The heartbreaking thing is everyone was really on poor terms with her anyway.” Abby sighs. “I think she would’ve been happy though. I married my childhood sweetheart, kind of like you.”

My cheeks round into a smile. It feels like I’ve learned something new about myself.

Abby reaches over the partition of the desk, and hands me a folder and a pen. “The first time we got married, we were eight and my sister was in kindergarten. We married right under that big oak tree. Sarah was the maid of honor.”

The pen slips from my fingers. Abby quickly retrieves it, but I stare as pieces of the puzzle finally begin to settle, painfully, together.

“Midnight was Sarah’s horse?” I spit out the question so quickly I nearly stumble over the words. I don’t know why it needs to leave my mouth so fast when I’m terrified of the answer.

Abby places the pen on top of the partition when I don’t take it. “Anyone who ever said animals don’t grieve could learn a thing or two from him. He’s never been alright since Sarah left.”

Left.

“Parker? Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. Could I trouble you for some water?”

“Stay there.” Abby points to a chair, and I sink down into it, trying to focus on my breathing as much as I can. But that becomes almost impossible no matter how hard I try.