"That's the question, isn't it," Sabrina answers, wrapping herself tighter against Rosie again. "Whether there's any rhyme or reason to it. Whether that matters. I-- I don't know. I mean, I could have answered that question back when I was part of why bad things happen, but there's no answer here."

She buries her face in Rosie's hair, breathing in the scent, her own voice fragile and brittle with tears. "But it doesn't matter right now. Because even if we knew, it wouldn't hurt less. He'd still be gone." There's a noise from the familiar at their feet, and then a cat-shaped form wiggling up the bedclothes.