A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hell no. Intelligence is overrated anyway.

He sank into that kiss, and fed from me like a starving man holding off famine. I drank from his soul in preparation for the drought to come. And when he finally pulled away, my throat was thick with unspoken words, my heart heavy with every apology I'd ever denied him. But it was too late for promises. The time had come for goodbye.

There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.

He was half again my size, but when we embraced, I felt like I was holding him up, and it was all I could do to remain standing. He buried his face in my hair, his body shaking against me with the spasmodic rhythm of unrestrained sobs. It was almost more than I could bear gracefully.

I don't hate it. It does no good to hate something you can't change.

Because in most cases, I believe that people deserve a second chance. And because I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd stood by and let them both die souless, when I could have helped.

Relief washed over me like that first air-conditioned breeze on a hot summer day.