“I love you, Matthew. You were and will always be everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re the love of my life. Thank you for loving me.” I closed my fist, gripping the grass. It was only my second time at Arlington, and being there, telling Matt I was moving on felt like a second goodbye.

A droplet hit my nose, and my eyes fluttered opened. The sky had darkened, the clouds rolled in, and a few intermittent drops on my face turned into a steady downpour of chilly rain. I sat up, looked at my watch, and looked back at Matt’s tombstone. I held my palm against the letters that spelled his name, his birth, his death, and everything else that was important in his life summed up in a few lines.

“Excuse me,” a woman said. “I’m Annie.” She was holding an umbrella over her shoulder-length curly brown hair, holding out a small, closed one. “I had an extra.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking around. The others still visiting the cemetery were ducking and running for cover.

She frowned when I didn’t take it. “You’ll be soaked inside of five minutes.” She took back the umbrella, put it under her arm, then held out her hand again.

“Naomi Abrams.” I shook her hand once, then wrapped my hair into a bun, knotting it in place. “I’ve walked through rain before.” I stood, dusted myself off, and smiled. “It feels kind of nice to be in the rain after that.”

Annie made a strange face then put down her own umbrella. She looked up with a smile. “You’re right.” With each drop, her curls were weighed down, but she still smiled. She nodded to Matt’s tombstone. “Brother? Husband?”

“Matt is my husband.”

Annie nodded. “I’m out visiting mine too.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Seven years, three months, six days. No judgement here. I’ve had my fair share of trying to talk to my guy through the soil. Gives a whole new meaning to dirty talk.”

I looked down.

“Sorry. Widow humor. It’s gotten me through, but I forget it doesn’t help everyone. I just live down the road now. I quit falling asleep out here years ago, but it’s still hard to see the wives, husbands, kids out here with blankets and water bottles, or like you, ill-prepared, unable to leave until closing time sometimes even in the heat … even in the rain.”

I looked at my watch again. “I’m not staying here that long. I have a plane to catch.”

“Oh? Where you coming from?”

“Colorado.” I shifted my weight. “Annie?”

She lifted her eyebrows.

“It doesn’t really get easier, does it?”

She sighed then shook her head. “No. You just get stronger. The moments you feel broken get further and further between, but they still come. The worst part is the best part: life goes on.”

“What do you mean?”