Page 74 of What Remains

"They still are."

They continued walking the property together. The greenhouse and the orchard stood dormant and bare against the gray sky. Then they reached the garden.

Even buried beneath months of snow, Josie recognized every row and every path. Her mother's kingdom, sleeping but not gone.

Liz stood quietly beside her for a long moment. "I'm going to get Mama's garden going in the spring."

Josie looked over at her, and Liz smiled through fresh tears. "She loved this place too much to let it die." She pointed toward the empty beds, mapping them out from memory. "Tomatoes there. Beans. Squash along that side. The strawberries are probably still alive under all of this."

"I hope so." Josie swallowed hard. "She always told us a garden was like saying a prayer for tomorrow."

Liz nodded slowly. "She always said you plant it anyway. For the chance."

Silence settled between them while snowflakes drifted down from the branches overhead. Then Liz turned toward her sister, and her smile faded.

"So... tell me about Mark."

Everything inside Josie seemed to deflate at once. She'd known the question would come eventually—she just hadn't been ready for it. She looked down at her boots, and the word caught in her throat before she could force it out.

"He... he got sick."

Liz's face fell. "When?"

"The first week." Josie stared out across the white pasture, her voice growing distant and unnervingly calm. "I came home from the hospital and found him on the bathroom floor. There was blood. So much blood." She closed her eyes. "I knew. I knew before he even looked at me."

Liz reached for her hand.

Tears slipped silently down Josie's cheeks. "He kept apologizing," she said. "For getting sick, of all things. He worried about me. Worried about Layla. He kept saying..." She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. "'Take care of our little girl.'"

Liz covered her mouth. "Oh, Jo..."

"I held his hand all night." Her breathing turned ragged. "I listened to it change. I counted every breath." She looked down at her own hands, as if she could still feel his. "I checked his pulse every few minutes, even though I knew." A bitter laugh escaped her. "He asked if Layla was asleep, and I lied. I said yes." Her shoulders shook. "She was hiding downstairs. I'd told her Daddy just had the flu."

Liz wrapped both arms around her sister and held on.

"I couldn't save him," Josie whispered into her shoulder. "I spent my whole life saving other people's husbands." Her voice shattered. "And I couldn't save my own."

"No." Liz pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. "You stop that right now."

"I should've⁠—"

"No. You stop carrying that." She cupped Josie's face exactly the way their mother used to, firm and gentle all at once. "You loved him. You stayed. You didn't leave him to face it alone. He knew you loved him." Her voice held steady despite her own grief. "And he died knowing you would move heaven and earth to keep Layla safe. He knew who he married."

Josie sobbed openly then—not because the pain had lessened, but because his name was real again on someone else's lips. For the first time, she wasn't the only one left to remember. Leaning into her sister, she felt the simple truth of it: he hadn't become just another number. He was Mark. A husband. A father. Loved.

Chapter 16

Breaking Point

Josie couldn’t do it anymore.

Not here. Not with everyone standing in the cold yard, not while watching Layla beam at Liz beneath the cottonwoods. The bright sound of her daughter’s voice kept striking the same bruise in Josie’s chest.

“Mommy,” Layla called, eyes bright with excitement, pointing to the old tire swing that still hung on. “Aunt Liz said Grandpa made that!”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Her smile, forced tight at the corners for Layla’s sake, didn’t reach anywhere safe inside her. The words came out smooth enough to pass for okay, but her body betrayed her in quieter ways: her hands curling and uncurling against her coat, her breath hitching between sentences.