Susan stands in front of the graves--five of them, in a not-so-tidy row since the ground is starting to shift with spring rain making the ground swell--and tries to breathe. Their son is squirming in her arms because she's gripping him too tight. Grace offers to take him and she hands the toddler to her wife, but now with her hands empty, all she can do is helplessly clench and unclench her fingers over nothing.

"Shall I start first?" Grace tries again. "Introduce myself to the in-laws?"

It's a silly joke, made worse by the fact that this isn't even the first time she's been to the graves, and Susan is still ashamed that this is the closest she's managed to get to them since the funeral without hyperventilating.

Susan shakes her head--she is not going to break down this time. It's been twenty years, damnit, and with Henry getting older, she didn't want him growing up not knowing about her family. After all, she is not ashamed of them--and she hopes they are not ashamed of her either.

Slowly, she takes a breath, and manages to greet the silent headstones before her for the first time in years.