She was sitting tailor fashion on the beach, looking out across the ocean at the distant horizon. This was about as calm as Betsy could appear to act....t truly was an appearance of calm rather than true calm. She was digging two holes. She was excavating one hole with each hand, and using the sand in the other hand to fill it in again. The strength required to shove her hands into the sand up to her wrists in one fast motion was immense. She was shoveling sand back and forth, about thirty times. ‘Perfect.’ He knew just the right words to say. He always had. ‘May I?’ he asked as he held out his hand. Reluctantly she handed it over to him. She fought to release it. He had as much right as she did. It was as special to him as it was to her. She watched as a huge tear trailed down his cheek. It dropped onto the material. Joined her own as the stain spread wider. ‘Perfect,’ he pronounced with finality. ‘Just like her, just like you.’ He brushed a soft kiss to the top of her head. ‘We have. More

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