s. We met at a support group for single parents, two ships lost in the same fog of grief. I was a librarian, my life quiet and ord

first wife' s death was a tragic accident, he' d said, a shadow

with a crackling firepl

he diamond in the box catching the fir

that felt foreign and wonderful. Leo, my energetic son, was p

l, with large, soulful eyes that seemed too old for her fa

ed, her voice trembling. "I'

med in, "Yeah, Mom! Say

s steady gaze, I felt the last of my defe

spreading across my fac

ect. Three days later, Mark ha

. "Just the three of us. We can be a real family. We c

I packed our bags, filled with a sense

over me as we hiked. Lily led us to an abandoned h

inside!" s

. I rushed in to find him staring at a pile of sma

nt, trying to soothe his shivers. As I held him, I hea

e the sk

their black bodies. Brown Recluses, their violin markings a harbin

. The bites were sharp, hot pricks of agony, one aft

st sight was Lily. She stood in the

per of pure poison. "No one gets to be D

ld wen