Ellen had been her best friend her whole life. Before Unity’s parents had been killed in a car crash, she and Ellen had split their time between their two houses, understanding that when they were at Ellen’s place, there were lots of rules and when they were at Unity’s, they could do whatever they wanted.

After working in the garden for a while, she went inside for lunch, only to find she wasn’t really hungry. In fact, she felt more than a little sick to her stomach. Instead of seeing the contents of her refrigerator, she saw the tall, solemn-eyed policeman telling her that her parents weren’t going to be coming home.

She’d been thirteen—old enough to understand but too young to truly process the information. She shut the refrigerator and sank down on the floor as she remembered Ellen and her parents holding her tight as she sobbed out her pain. She’d gone to live with Ellen and her folks—there’d never been a question of that. Although she had her own room, for the first year, she’d slept with Ellen, her friend hugging her when Unity woke screaming from the nightmares.

Years later, Ellen had helped her plan every part of her small, inexpensive wedding to Stuart. They’d made the centerpieces themselves, after they’d finished the beading on Unity’s dress. Ellen had been her maid of honor and Ellen had emailed her every single day that Stuart was deployed. And yes, when Unity had once again opened her front door to find stern-faced men waiting to tell her Stuart was gone, Ellen had dropped everything to fly out to South Carolina and bring her home. Because Ellen showed her love by doing. She always had.

Unity leaned against the cabinets and closed her eyes as the uncomfortable truth wormed its way into her soul. Ellen had needed her and she hadn’t been there. Worse, Ellen had asked for help and Unity had practically laughed in her face as she told her to get over herself. So what if she didn’t think what Coop had said was a big deal? Ellen did and wasn’t that what mattered? Only the things Ellen had said—they had been awful.

Unity forced herself to her feet, made her way out to her work van and drove to Silver Pines.

She’d joined the Saturday afternoon Moving on After Loss grief group shortly after coming home. The group met in one of the community center rooms. A licensed therapist acted as facilitator, but there was no set agenda. People were allowed to talk or not talk, sharing as they liked. Just being with other people who had gone through what she had made her feel less alone.

About a year ago they’d gotten a new facilitator—Carmen. She was a fortysomething woman with dark hair and eyes, and a calming way about her.

Unity walked into the community center room and saw there were about fifteen people attending today. She greeted everyone as she made her way to the coffee machine in the back. Every few weeks someone new joined, but today all the faces were familiar.