I was still grieving my husband and barely making ends meet when I found his missing cap and a note at his grave. What I read stunned me. But it was nothing compared to what I would discover next.
Last Sunday, my eighteen-month-old son pointed at his father’s grave and shouted, “Dada! Dada!”
At first, I thought he meant the photograph on the headstone.
But then I saw what he was actually pointing at.
Something that had been missing since the plane crash that killed my husband.
And I had no idea how it had ended up there.
Dada! Dada!
***
I’m Emma, twenty-nine, a former competitive rock climber who dreamed of opening a climbing school.
Now I’m raising my son Jack alone.
My husband, Dan, used to tease me. “Most people feel safer with both feet on the ground.”
“Most people haven’t seen me walk in heels.”
“Fair point. You’re safer hanging from a cliff.”
I had no idea how it had ended up there.
Then everything changed. Dan died in a plane crash when I was six months pregnant.
I haven’t climbed since.
These days, I’m afraid of everything, even leaving Jack with my mother for a few hours.
I take occasional sewing jobs, but Dan’s savings ran out months ago.
You’re safer hanging from a cliff.
***
Last week, the washing machine broke.
“Four hundred dollars,” the repairman announced.
“Does that include a new machine?”
He didn’t laugh.
Mom helps with groceries and childcare, sometimes leaving money in my kitchen drawer.
I’m afraid of everything.
“Mom, stop leaving money.”
“Maybe your drawer is producing it.”
I hate depending on her. But there’s one thing I never skip.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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