Molly shook hands, returned hugs, murmured thanks for condolences, all the while trying to keep an eye on her family. Her children were strong, and loyal to one another; they'd stick together through this, she was sure of it.
But there was one child she worried over. Molly walked across the grass, bending to touch Alex's hair as he knelt by Angelina's headstone, then passed him on the way to George.
He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Exhausted. He'd thrown himself into planning, into looking after his children, into doing anything and everything that might keep him from thinking, and it showed.
"Darling," she said, reaching for his hand, drawing him into a hug. Out of all her children, today she worried most for him. Suffering twice the loss, she feared his coping might come from a bottle.