Michael and I sit across from one another in our bedroom. He taps on his keyboard. I tap on mine. He faces south. I face north. The curtains are open. Light spills in from the gray outside. It's cold in here. I sniff chilled snot back into my nostrils. March 3rd. The sun opens the sky up for five seconds. It settles into spouting trees and rooftops across the street. It melts away. My abdomen aches a bit from the grief residue that fills our house. Two parents gone in 9 days. His parents. And it wasn't because they loved each other. They divorced 40 years ago and lived in separate states. Coincidence?