When she walked into the house, she found a note from her dad that said he’d left to help a neighbor with their well and wouldn’t be home for dinner. She didn’t particularly like to cook, so she made herself a cold roast-beef sandwich with extra horseradish and sat down in the breakfast nook that her dad and brother had expanded to include not only more space but a window seat that Regan’s little sister used to spend hours reading in. They rarely ate in the dining room, only used it for their large Thanksgiving gathering.

The kitchen bled into the great room. This grand, open space was where she and her siblings spent most of their time growing up. The worn sectional sofa had since been replaced by two leather couches, but Dad had reupholstered his favorite chair and still sat in it every night. The small television they rarely watched had been replaced with a bigger wall-mounted model after John had retired. He only watched sports and local news, though on occasion Regan could entice him to watch a classic Western.

There was comfort here. Family pictures taken over the years, photos of beloved pets—the golden retriever they’d had during most of Regan’s childhood, the yellow Lab who’d joined the family her senior year. Photos of her dad’s horses, which he’d sold to a neighbor after Bri left home because he didn’t have the time to care for them. She missed horseback riding with her sister and dad—it was one thing she’d enjoyed that her brothers hadn’t.

She’d noticed as soon as she moved back home last fall that her dad had taken down her wedding picture. She didn’t know if he removed it months ago when she told him she and Grant were getting a divorce, or when she told him that she’d resigned from the US Marshals Service and asked if she could come home until she figured out what to do.

There were, of course, many pictures of Chase, John’s first grandchild, along with photos of JT’s two young girls. A recent picture of her and Chase caught her eye. Even among the hundreds of photographs mounted on the great-room walls, her eye always gravitated to it. They’d come to visit her dad the Christmas break before Chase was killed. They’d gone skiing at the Snowbowl atop the San Francisco peaks. Chase’s face was red from the cold and exertion, but his green eyes lit up with joy. She was grinning, and now remembered how free she’d felt that week. How happy she’d been to share so much with her boy. Like her, he loved the outdoors. He took to skiing like a fish to water, and she’d been so proud of how, when he fell down, he got right back up.