He couldn’t hold it together on the phone. His voice shook and his sentences were short. I’ll never forget that feeling in my chest, like I knew something horrible had happened and there was nothing I could do about it.

There was something in his voice that I recognized. It’s how I sound when I’m trying to convince someone else I’m okay, but I’m not. I knew it well.

After my parents died, I got tired of having to convince people there was more to me than tragedy. People who didn’t bother to get to know me, because I was just the sad girl at the end of the block. The poor child everyone talked about.

It was why I moved to New York. Living in the small town where my family died wasn’t a healthy place for someone who just wanted to feel like there’s something else in this world other than the past.

For Evan it wasn’t a sudden car crash, it was the phrase “two weeks to live” that brought him to his weakest moment.

I insisted on seeing him and meeting him at his parents’ place and even though I thought he’d object, he didn’t. He’d never been so passive toward anything like he was that night.

Evan’s only cried twice since I’ve known him.

That night after his mother had finally gone to bed and we went back to his childhood bedroom. And nineteen days later, when she was put in the ground.

My hand itches to hold his right now. Instead I hold a ringing cell phone in an empty home.

“Henry,” I say, answering the phone as if nothing’s wrong although I’m very aware my voice sounds nearly breathless. Clearing my throat, I repeat his name. My voice is peppy and full of life, even though it’s nearly 10:00 p.m. and I feel nothing but dead inside.

I squint at the clock on the computer and wonder why he’s calling so late. “Is everything all right?” I ask, rushing out the words, my heart beating slower and a deep fear of loss settling in.

“My favorite daughter-in-law,” Henry says and his greeting makes a soft smile lift up my lips. I even feel the warmth from it.

“Your only daughter-in-law,” I correct him, picking at a bit of fuzz on the sleeve of my shirt.

“Still my favorite,” he replies and I give him the laugh that he’s after, even if it is a little short and quiet.

“What are you calling for?” I ask him and rest my elbow on the desk, chin in my hand. I absently minimize the document on my screen and clear out all my tabs, checking my email yet again as Henry talks.

“I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything’s going well.”