I walked into our bedroom, clipboard in hand. "Okay, I need your opinion on this document, because it's not...Maxon?" He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at something in his hand. "Maxon?" I repeated, walking over. It wasn't like him to just ignore me. "Are you alright?" I sat down by him, setting the clipboard on the nightstand. I leaned over to see what he was looking at, but he rolled it up, and looked up at me. "Yes, my dear?" His eyes were red. Teary red... like he had been crying. The smile he gave me was so fake, I instantly knew something was wrong. "Maxon... what is it?" "What's what?" He asked. Still that fake smile. Suspicious, I gently took the paper from his hands. He didn't try to stop me. I unfurled the paper, to see the smiling face of Amberly Shreave, and the stern expression of Clarkson. 'That's right,' I thought, 'it would be a month today.' Maxon's voice was choked. "I miss them, America. I miss my mother's smile, her laugh. And despite everything, I even miss my father. I feel lost without them." "Maxon..." I didn't know what to say, so I wrapped my arms around him. "Sometimes... Sometimes I'll forget, and I'll expect to see mom turning the corner, or dad coming over to lecture me. Then I'll remember." He was crying in earnest now, and I thought of what to say. I held him tighter. "That's exactly how I felt when I lost my dad. Like I could walk into our garage, and he would be in there, covered in paint, and smiling." I took his hand. "You assured me that the best of my father's is still around, in me. But Maxon, it's the same for you. Sure, you have your father's looks, but it's deeper than that. The way your mother's smile would light up a room. Or how your father was confident in everything. You're living out your parents legacy, Maxon. And I think you're doing a fine job." He managed a real smile at that.
"You're my wife. You have to say that."
"Well, I mean it."
He pulled back. "Look at me. A grown man, crying to his wife." I cupped his cheek in my hand. "Considering what you've gone through in your life, you deserve a couple years. No one's going to judge you." I stood, scooping up my clipboard. "Well, I believe we have a meeting in five. Shall we go?" He stood and started to follow me out the door. When I reached for the doorknob, he grabbed my hand and said, "wait." He walked up and gave me a long, slow kiss. "Thank you," he whispered.