Chapter 10

Months later, I drove up the mountain road to the graveyard where Elias was buried.

The ground was still cold, but the sky was clear. February in Asheville was all gray light and bare branches and the smell of woodsmoke in the valley. I parked my truck and walked to the headstone.

Elias Vale. Beloved husband. 1988-2025.

I stood there for a long time. I hadn’t been back since the funeral. I had been too angry. Too empty. But today I had something to tell him.

“It’s over,” I said. “The truth is out. Victor’s in prison. Locke Medical is under new leadership. They’re building a safety training center with your name on it.”

The wind moved through the trees. I pulled Elias’s dog tags out from under my shirt and held them in my palm.

“Your heart is still beating,” I said. “It’s in a boy named Leo. He draws hearts on his sketchbook and plays video games and asks too many questions. He’s alive because of you. And he’s going to stay alive.”

I heard footsteps behind me. I turned. Damian walked up the hill, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers. Leo was beside him, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his cheeks pink from the cold.

“You came,” I said.

“Leo wanted to,” Damian said. “I wanted to. If that’s okay.”

I looked at Leo. He stepped forward and looked at the headstone.

“Hi, Elias,” he said. “I’m Leo. I’m the one with your heart.” He paused. “I’ll take good care of it.”

I felt the tears come, and I didn’t wipe them away. Damian stood beside his son, his hand resting on Leo’s shoulder. He looked older than he had in November. Softer, too. The foundation was small, but it was growing. He spent his days in meetings with safety engineers and workers’ advocates. He was learning how to listen.

“I’m sorry,” Damian said. “For everything.”

“I know,” I said.

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

“I know that, too.”

He looked at me. “Can you forgive me?”

I thought about Elias. About the way he laughed, the way he kissed my forehead, the way he had signed that donor card without thinking twice. He had been a man who believed in second chances. He had given one to a stranger he would never meet.

“I forgive you,” I said. “Not for the death. For choosing to change.”

Damian exhaled. Leo looked up at his father, then at me. He pressed a hand to his chest.

“I can feel it beating,” he said.

I knelt down and pulled him into a hug. His heart-Elias’s heart-thumped against my ear. Strong. Steady. Alive.

Above us, the sun broke through the clouds. Damian placed the wildflowers at the base of the headstone. We stood there together, the three of us, bound by grief and guilt and something that felt almost like grace.

When I drove home that night, I passed the Locke Medical sign at the bottom of the hill. In the spring, they were going to plant a garden around it. Leo had designed it-red tulips and white asters in the shape of a heart.

E.V.

I smiled. Then I kept driving.