Chapter 33
LILY
Four Months Later
“You’re not being very subtle,” I tell Josh as he drops his coffee mug in the sink. We’re alone in the kitchen while Penny gets dressed, and he’s been a nervous nelly since the moment we woke up with Penny bouncing on our bed, yelling she didn’t want to be late for school.
I threw a pillow at her and told her the alarms are set at an hour calculated to give us enough time to get ready, and that she was forty minutes early.
She pouted. And Josh caved, jumping out of bed and scooping her up into his arms. “How about we make Mommy breakfast while she rests a little longer?” Then something must’ve clicked in his brain and he stumbled. Looked back at me with an uncertain expression and has been acting weird ever since.
“Subtle about what?” He lifts the mug to check it’s not broken and loads it into the dishwasher.
I turn to him and cross my arms over my chest. “About being freaked out because today is Daniel’s birthday.”
“Ah.” He makes that sheepish, you-caught-me face, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know where you want me today. Far away and inconspicuous? Or pressed to your side all day?”
I go to him, loop my fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pull him to me. “It’s going to be difficult to stay glued to me since we both have work.”
I kiss him, showing him that I’m good. We’re good.
I give his waist a reassuring squeeze and step back.
“But I want you with me today. With us.” I smooth down the front of his T-shirt, an unnecessary gesture that’s more about keeping my hands on him than fixing his appearance.
“If you drop me at the hospital and pick me up later, we can swing by the school for Penny, and go to the cemetery together. As a family.”
Josh’s hands find my shoulders, his thumbs making gentle circles against my collarbones. His eyes—those impossible blue pools I’m still not immune to—search mine with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs. “I don’t want to intrude. This day is about Daniel, about your history with him. I can stay back if that would be easier.”
The concern in his voice warms me from the inside out.
We’ve been dating for four months, and Josh still approaches every potentially complicated moment with such care, such mindfulness of the invisible third person in our relationship.
He’s never jealous of Daniel’s memory, never competes with it—he just persistently makes space for himself alongside it.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, covering his hands with mine. “The entire family will pay their respects. That includes you now.” I meet his gaze, wanting him to see the certainty in mine. “You’re part of us. Penny wants you to come. I want you.”
He dips his head and presses a kiss to my temple, then pulls me into a hug that feels like shelter. His chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. “Whatever you need today, it’s yours,” he murmurs into my hair.
I nod against him, breathing in the scent of his soap and that indefinable warmth that’s just him. “The same goes for you, you know. If this is too much or feels weird, you don’t have to come. We’d understand.”
Josh pulls back to look at me, his expression serious. “I’m good if you are. Besides”—his mouth quirks into that crooked smile—“Penny’s been talking about introducing me to her dad all week. Can’t let the kid down.”
It’s so Penny to want to introduce Josh to Daniel, as if her father were just waiting in another room.
She has never been sad during these visits.
Unlike me. Daniel’s birthdays have been especially hard, but this is the first one that feels peaceful instead of a day when I can’t eat or think, and that I could only hope to end without breaking apart in front of my kid.
And it’s mostly thanks to Josh; my chest constricts with a mess of emotions: gratitude, tenderness, a whisper of sadness.
“She has been looking forward to it,” I agree. I lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips, then step back, shifting into morning-rush mode. “We should get moving or we’ll be late.”
We do the familiar dance of gathering bags, keys, phones—the rhythm of our shared life still new enough to feel like a gift each day.
Josh’s things have been slowly migrating into my apartment over the past months.
His toothbrush in the bathroom. Running shoes by the door.
His favorite coffee mug in the cabinet next to mine.
Little colonizations of my space that I welcome, crave even.
We’ve decided he’s going to give up his lease as soon as it expires.
I grab my thermos while Josh helps Penny find her lost history book (under the couch, naturally). The domesticity still catches me off guard sometimes, how easily we’ve formed this unit, how right it feels.
We pile into Josh’s truck, Penny chattering about her upcoming history test as she buckles herself into the backseat. Josh meets my eyes over the console, his hand finding mine for a quick squeeze before he starts the engine.
We drop Penny off at school, watching as she races toward the entrance, backpack bouncing, ponytail swinging. She’s grown so much. And Daniel will never see her. A bittersweet pang reverberates through me, but it’s gentler now, less like being stabbed and more like pressing on a fading bruise.
Next, Josh pulls up to the hospital entrance where I climb out, circling to his side and leaning through the window for a goodbye kiss.
“See you at five,” he promises.
“Don’t be late,” I warn him, only half-joking. “If one of your recruits ropes you into narrating your heroics, shut it down.”
Josh loves teaching. He never shuts up about his rookies, and it is such a relief that he has a job that is safe but still fulfills him.
He salutes with exaggerated formality. “Yes, ma’am. Punctuality is my middle name.”
“I thought it was trouble.”
“That’s my first name. I’m Lieutenant Trouble Punctuality Collins.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yes, but I’m your idiot,” he corrects, eyes crinkling with affection.
“Go to work,” I tell him, smiling as I head inside.
The shift passes in a blur of routine emergencies—broken bones, chest pains, a toddler who swallowed a Lego, an elderly woman with pneumonia.
I navigate the hours anchored to the awareness of what day it is.
Daniel’s birthday. He would’ve been thirty-four today.
But as I make the calculation, it’s the first year I don’t feel like I’m a breath away from falling apart or from grief washing over me and pulling me under.
The sadness is still present, of course, a familiar weight I carry, but now I can do it with a newfound balance, without it crushing me.
The pain sits alongside other emotions: gratitude for the years we had, peace in the memories.
* * *
At the cemetery, the afternoon sun filters through the trees, dappling Daniel’s headstone with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The marble gleams, clean and well-maintained, his name etched in deep, precise letters.
We’re gathered around the grave in a loose semicircle.
Me, Penny, Josie, Mom, and Aunt Moira. Even Dorian came, but he’s staying two hundred yards behind us, leaning against a tree with his motorcycle helmet still on to avoid drawing attention or paparazzi to our private moment.
This is how he shows respect. By being present but invisible, making sure nothing disrupts our family time.
And then there’s Josh, standing behind me, close enough that I’m aware of his warmth but giving me space to step forward with Penny. He’s wearing his nicest jeans and a button-down shirt. I love that he wore his best clothes to meet Daniel.
Penny clutches a bouquet of daisies against her chest. She steps forward, and the sight of her small figure approaching her father’s grave still makes my heart crack, but the edges aren’t as jagged anymore.
“Hi, Daddy. I brought your birthday flowers.” She places the daisies at the foot of the tombstone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring cake, but Mom says food attracts ants, and you wouldn’t want ants crawling all over your special place.”
A choked laugh escapes me, and Josh’s palm presses against the small of my back in silent support.
Penny turns to Josh then, extending her hand to him. “Come meet my daddy.”
Josh steps forward, taking her offered hand, and allows himself to be led right up to the headstone. His throat works as he swallows.
“Daddy, this is Josh,” Penny announces. “He’s Mom’s new boyfriend and my stepdad.
This week he taught me how to change a tire, and he makes great pancakes, but not as good as yours.
” She pauses, considering. “Josh is a firefighter too, but now he teaches other firefighters how to be safe so they don’t get hurt. ”
Josh kneels down at Penny’s level, his face flushed. He’s nervous; it’s written in the tight set of his shoulders. But when he speaks, his tone is steady.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he says to the headstone, and though it might seem silly to talk to a dead guy, Josh is nothing but sincere.
“You raised an amazing daughter. She’s smart, brave, and has your sense of humor, from what Lily tells me.
And Lily”—his voice catches slightly—“she’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. I promise I’ll take care of them.”
The simplicity of his words, the raw honesty in them, makes tears spring to my eyes. Penny beams up at him, then looks back at the grave. “See, Dad? I told you he was nice.”
After a few more minutes of Penny catching Daniel up on school and ballet and the new trick she learned on her bike, the others drift away, heading back to their cars.
Mom hugs me tight, whispering, “He’s a good man, your Josh,” before following Moira down the path.
Josie squeezes my arm, then Penny’s, before going to collect Dorian from his sentinel post by the tree.
Josh turns to me, his expression gentle. “Ready?”
I shake my head. “You go ahead with Penny. I need a minute.”
He nods, pressing a quick peck to my forehead. “Take your time. We’ll be waiting by the entrance.”
He takes Penny’s hand, and they walk away together, my daughter’s voice drifting back as she asks Josh something about birds and why only some can sing. My heart swells watching them, the careful way Josh listens to her, how he shortens his stride to match hers.
When they’re far enough away, I turn back to the grave.
“So that’s Josh,” I mumble. “But you already knew him, didn’t you?” I caress the headstone. “You sent the right man. He’s exactly like you and nothing like you, and that makes it easier.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a shiny penny, the same one I found here months ago. I touch it to my lips and then place it atop the tombstone.
“Thank you,” I whisper, “for helping me find my way home, even if home looks different now.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I was the one who got lost this time. I had to find myself again.”
A tear slides down my cheek, but it feels cleansing rather than devastating. “I’m going to be happy now. We’re going to be fine.”
The penny glints in the sunlight, and I imagine it as Daniel winking at me from wherever he is now.
I take a moment to collect myself and walk out of the cemetery to where Josh and Penny are waiting for me. My daughter skips over, her face brightening.
“Mom, can we have ice cream for dinner?”
I laugh freely; nothing tugs it back down anymore. “Yes, sweetie.”
“Yay!” Penny pumps her fist in victory and hops ahead toward the parking lot, already listing the flavors she plans to order.
Josh wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You okay?” he asks, studying my face.
I blossom in the human contact, in the sensation of being hugged, loved, and cherished by this man who chose me above everything else. I cup his cheek. “I love you,” I tell him, and then kiss him, right out of the cemetery, not caring who sees.
When we pull apart, Josh’s eyes are shiny.
He glances toward Penny, who’s now impatiently bouncing by the truck, then looks back at me.
“I love you too,” he mouths, and the simple certainty in his words fills all the hollow places inside me except the one that’ll always be Daniel’s even if it’s getting smaller.
Penny bounces back to us, grabbing one of each of our hands and tugging. “Come on, you can do kissy stuff later! Ice cream is melting somewhere, and we need to rescue it!”
Josh and I both laugh as she pulls us forward.
As we walk down the street toward the truck, hands linked, I feel complete in a way I thought was lost forever.
Not because the grief is gone—it will always be there, a muted current beneath everything else—but because I’ve learned that sorrow and joy can coexist. Loving Josh doesn’t diminish what Daniel and I had.
My heart, like Penny’s, has room for both the past and the future.
And as the three of us climb into Josh’s truck, heading toward ice cream and the rest of our lives, I realize that I’m not just surviving anymore.
I’m living. A life that’s big and small, messy and uncomplicated, but mostly beautiful, and finally mine again.