Epilogue
Central Park was busy on this Sunday. Children ran everywhere, people yelled and talked and called playfully to each other. Lovers walked hand in hand. Birds sang. The clouds overhead were enough to give them shade, but didn’t threaten rain.
Mallory sat on a bench, watching Brendan play on a sculpture of William Shakespeare with other kids his own age. They’d been coming here every day for the last month, and he still hadn’t gotten bored with it.
In fact, he’d asked Mallory to bring him here for his birthday, too.
Eleven years old. It was hard to believe he was growing up so fast. With everything they’d been through, he’d grown up in other ways, but now he could actually say he was getting older. At the same time, he was learning to be a kid. To play, to run, to yell and play
