One morning, a worker called me over.
“We found something you might want.”
He held a piece of wood from beneath the bench.
On its underside, Michael had carved two initials.
E and M.
I covered my mouth.
I’d never known they were there.
The worker smiled.
“We can preserve this piece.”
“Please do.”
When the work was finished, the terrace looked different. The boards were lighter. The railing had been strengthened. The bench sat securely against the wall.
But the view was exactly as I remembered.
On my first evening upstairs, I carried two mugs of coffee out of habit.
I stood looking at them for a moment.
Then I poured the coffee from one mug into a smaller cup and sat on Michael’s bench.
The wind chime moved gently beside the door.
I missed him.
That hadn’t changed.
But for once, the sadness didn’t make me wish the whole world would stay still.
