Our stance is strong, our hearts weak while looking down into a cave of despair and relief. This is where the body of my mother will reside. To my left, I finally lay eyes upon my father’s tombstone, and my stomach churns. I was banned from this spot over a decade ago, as was Donovan. He stands to my left with one arm around me, his other hand holding that of his wife, just as my other hand is interlaced with Christopher’s. All of the tensions in our bodies pour into each other, clinging to the cornerstone that only our bond can provide.

As the snow wisps down from above, my father’s glare imposes from below. He never knew about Donovan and I; now I feel he has somehow learned. Though Donovan and I stand strong before their remains, we feel less than victorious.