Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

He smiles and kisses me softly.

“You should stay away from her.” I smile against his lips.

“I intend to, don’t worry. She’s the devil in disguise.”

I giggle, and we kiss again.

And just for tonight, all is right in my world.

It’s now Friday, and Julian is due home at any moment. He’s taken the afternoon off to come with me to the meeting at the school. I’m looking forward to what this teacher is going to say to us both. Hopefully it’s not as bad as I’m imagining.

I put some things away in Sammy’s room, and I walk down the hall and glance into Julian’s bedroom, frowning when I see something out of place.

There’s a book, upside down, left open on his bedside table. I walk in and pick it up.

When Children Grieve.

For adults, to help children deal with death.

My eyes instantly fill with tears and I sit on his bed with the book in my hand.

Sadness engulfs me. I wish a book like this never had to be written. I wish nobody ever needed it. How do you ever teach your children to live without their mother?

I sit for a moment with tears in my eyes.

They’ve been through so much. I imagine them at the funeral, and then at the wake. Willow would have been ten, Sammy only three. He probably doesn’t even remember her. I get a vision of them all dressed up, of Samuel in a little suit in his fathers’ arms. Julian would have had to organize the funeral.

Was she buried or cremated? Where is her grave?

Has the house been silent and sad ever since?

I hear his car come up the drive. I carefully place the book back on his bedside table and run down the stairs to meet him.

I want to tell him everything is going to be okay.

But she wasn’t my wife, I’m not grieving, and it’s not okay because she’s never coming back.

For the first time, I can understand why he’s like the way he is, so closed off to the world and afraid to get too close to anyone ever again.

The door opens, and he appears in front of me, smiling warmly. He’s wearing a grey suit with a white tie, looking like everything but a man swallowed in grief.

“Hello, Miss Brielle.”

My heart skips a beat. I just want to throw my arms around his neck and hug him. “Hi,” I breathe.

“You ready to go?”

I nod, but I hesitate. This really isn’t any of my business.

“What?” he asks, sensing my need to say something.

“You’re doing a really good job.”

He frowns, waiting for me to expand.

“With the kids. You’re doing a really good job with the kids. You’re a great father.”

He smiles softly, offering his thank you in silence. “Let’s go.”