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Maybe her longing for Henry had nothing to do with her happiness – he wasn’t, perhaps, part of it. It had been a very long time since she felt the kind of frictionless joy she experienced on the ridgeline above the oak trees. That feeling of not just being by herself but being by herself and with purpose.

But you should have a little pain in your life – humans are meant to have a little pain. Endings, I suppose, like seasons, like winters. That’s where all the good stuff is. Ripped apart, so you can feel the mending. There’s nothing like it. I wouldn’t wish an uneventful life on my worst enemy.