... he wasn't crying for the woman who had died. He was crying for the woman she had been.

When he grasped her hand, he felt the calluses on her palm. He was thinking about how tough she was, and then she smiled. It was tentative and brief but it touched his heart, and then she was gone. He watched while she disappeared over the hill and then took the box into the kitchen, refilled his coffee and opened the lid. 36%

I'm a woman. We mature faster than men, remember?