Nancy has held up well.
She’s 35… that’s okay; no mortgage now… good; factory work… bad; three kids… a mixed bag.
The remaining insurance money will help while she trains for a day job. Factory shifts don’t work for a single mom. Stress presses deep into her chest. Friends and family keep saying they admire how well she’s coping.
Nancy makes tea.
Then, putting two steaming mugs on the table, she realizes what she has just done… and who is missing, and she weeps with the greatest of intensity for the love she has lost.