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Through the hard, through the good

Give me them all, girl

Give me all your sunshine kisses

Even if it’s raining down outside

I perch on the edge of the table, staring at the stereo in a trance as he plays song after song, the lyrics rendering a beautiful timeline of our story.

Our senior prom.

The first time he bought me flowers.

Collecting the keys to our apartment.

Afternoons at Swift Falls.

He sings about waking up next to me in the mornings, leaving Canyon Pass behind us, me riding shotgun in his truck. Every life event, no matter how big or small.

Salt mingles with my smile as he finishes “Your Mother’s Eyes,” a song about how he wishes our future children will have gold and amber eyes.

He strikes the last chord and is silent for a second, and I wait with bated breath for the next song, praying it isn’t the last.

“Tally Girl.” Emotion clogs Tate’s words. “I don’t know when or if you’ll ever hear these songs, but I hope one day you do. This isn’t just a dedication to you, but our past, present, and future…if you’ll let us continue our story.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “God, I miss you something fierce. This is the last song. You might recognize it. This is ‘Timelessly Talia.’”

The next lyrics are ingrained in my brain.

They visit me in my dreams.

They were sung up into the gray clouds after our vows.

They are tattooed on my husband’s ribs.

Our song. It had always just been “Our Song,” but now it has a name.

My foot bounces in anticipation as he nears the chorus, and I whisper along with him.

But then it pauses.

“No!” I shoot forward, scrambling for the remote control and aiming it at the stereo.

I click Play, but it jumps back to the very beginning. I fast-forward. Check the disk for scratches. Turn the stereo on and off again. Each time, the song stops at the same part, cutting Tate off.

Cheeks damp, I stare accusingly at the inanimate object. “You piece of shit.” I kick the leg of the table with a sob. I can’t even have this today of all days.

I turn to the sound of drumming on the windowpane. Now the heavens decide to open. Water pitter-patters against the glass, the first rainfall in two months.

The longer I stare through the window, however, my confusion grows.

Clear blue skies, not a single cloud in sight.

I inch toward the window.

It isn’t a natural phenomenon or even the sprinklers on the fritz, but what I see stops me in my tracks and sends my heart rate soaring.

Standing in the front yard, a hose pointed toward the house, is Tate.

He’s already watching me, his subtle smile blooming into a bright and beautiful grin.