Moving in with Henry made the most sense. I had suggested it after he proposed.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, Henry."

"You want to live with Abraham?"

"I love Abe too, you know."

"I know, but – surely it would be awkward for you, living with your seventy-year-old stepson?"

I laughed. "Oh, definitely. But he's old enough that he shouldn't be living by himself. And besides... He's a better cook than you."

He couldn't argue with that. And so I started packing. I was startled to discover dozens of boxes in the attic that I had never unpacked. Some of them contained childhood toys and old art projects. Others had discards of my mother that she had foisted upon me. I smiled as I remembered our conversation.

"You'll need dishes, Jo! These are good dishes!"

"I have dishes, Mom."

"Yes, but do you have enough?"

In the end, she'd put the boxes on our moving van without telling me.

Sorting through the attic took several days. I was almost done when I encountered a large box with no label. I recognized it immediately. "Sean," I whispered, running a hand over the top.

My first instinct was to call Henry. I didn't know if I could get through this one by myself. My second instinct was to throw it out so I didn't have to get through it at all. My third instinct was to take a deep breath and open the box.

That was the one I went with.

The items in the box were in complete disarray. I vaguely remembered throwing them in on a particularly bad day after Sean's death. I had probably been drunk at the time. If I had been sober, I would have at least packed the box properly.

The first item I pulled out was a framed picture from our first Christmas together. My mother had caught us kissing under the mistletoe. After snapping the photo, she'd interrupted. "Next Christmas, maybe we'll have a little Moore under the tree," she'd teased.

The second item was a stuffed panda bear. We had been at a carnival, flirty and happy, and I had pointed it out. "Sean, it's so cute!"

"Do you want it, sweetheart?"

I'd nodded, and he had spent the next half hour throwing darts to win it for me. He had terrible aim, but he was determined. When he had finally handed it to me, I had squealed like a little girl. The bear, christened "Checkers" for the red plaid bow around its neck, had lived on our nightstand for years.

Underneath the bear was a scrapbook. I put it aside. I couldn't look at our wedding photos.

Next was Sean's pillow. I had slept with it for weeks after his death. I held it to my nose and breathed in; it still smelled like him, somehow, a combination of citrus and printer ink.

A pencil drawing of me in my dress blues. His favorite book, bookmark still stuck inside page 37. A card from our third anniversary. The key cards we'd stolen from the hotel on our wedding night. His ridiculous tie collection, complete with Star Wars and Santa.

"Jo?"

I looked up to see Henry watching me from the doorway.

"May I come in?" he asked.

I looked around. I was surrounded by items that reminded me of the love of my life. Sean had been everything to me, and losing him had broken me.

Until I met Henry.

"Come on in," I said, patting the floor next to me. "Want to hear some stories?"

Because I've written a lot about Jo being affected by Sean's death, and it's nice to think that she could get to the point where she could see a box full of Sean's things and remember the good times without being sad. What do you think?