The next morning, Mark and I went to the old milk shed. We pried up the rotted floorboards exactly where the tape described. The metal lockbox was there. Everything he promised was inside, neatly organized, securing my future. Yesterday, the buyers came for the tractor.

I stood on the porch and watched them load it onto a flatbed trailer. Two years ago, the sight would have broken me. But as the truck rumbled down the driveway, carrying away Harold’s glass confessional, I didn’t feel the crushing weight of grief anymore. I just felt loved.