My husband had spent years warning me never to set foot on that farm. So after he passed away and the lawyer handed me the key, saying that from now on the place belonged to me, I was ready to sell it right away and put everything behind me. But before making my final decision, I still wanted to see it once for myself. When the door opened, I finally understood why, all those years, he had never wanted me to set foot there.

I had been loved by a man capable of astonishing, almost secretive attention. That should not have been news after twenty-four years. Yet here, in the architecture of his final labor, I was forced to confront the fact that there are forms of devotion even a marriage may not fully reveal until after death.

The stables took my breath cleanly away.

They stood just beyond the main house, red cedar with white trim and cupolas, immaculate against the morning sky. The smell hit me the moment I stepped inside, hay, clean shavings, leather, horse heat, metal, dust, and some deep animal sweetness that always felt to me like truth itself. I had not realized how badly I needed that smell until it wrapped around me and undid something in my chest.

Six heads turned toward me from six spotless stalls.

For a long second, I could only stand there.