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Taylor muttered a curse and went to the kitchen. Linnea closed her eyes and massaged a temple. Everett touched her shoulder. She gently brushed it off. She was about to go find Taylor but noticed Everett wasn’t empty-handed.

Her eyes moved to a locked, metal carrier in his grip, stunting her breath. “Ev,” she whispered, and her legs caved from astonishment. The bottom stair caught her. “You really have it?”

Everett went to her and set the carrier down. He shrugged his sport coat off, lobbing it on the banister, a mundane gesture from their shared past. She always hated putting it away for him. What wouldn’t she give to have silly irritations as the worst part of her day?

“How did you get it here?” she asked him.

“I drove twelve hundred miles, wasn’t going to risk getting on a plane. I made some phone calls on the way. I found someone who can get us in contact with the horse's original owner.” He crouched at her level with worry, and she saw he looked tired, not exactly triumphant. Linnea hadn’t fathomed the literal cost to obtain Ulla’s horse: two private investigators, three trips to New York, mortgaging all his East Coast properties, auctioning vacation condos, and a private loan that he wrote off using his M&A firm as a cover. There were other things he’d done these past months, too. He texted daily, asked what she needed. His sister, older by seven years and living in St. Paul, someone whom Linnea and Everett didn’t connect with much except for the annual Christmas cards, set up a meal chain and stopped by regularly to visit. Funny how death could bring out the best in people.

He helped Linnea to her feet. Together, with the metal carrier in his hand, they found their son hunched with his forearms on the kitchen island, head bowed, eyes closed, as if working to stay awake.

Taylor lifted his face, aiming a watchful gaze at them. Everett set the case next to him, worked a lock combination, and clicked it open.

The tiny wooden horse rested in firm black foam, allowing its opulence to shine.

“What is that?” Taylor straightened, looking thoroughly confused.

Linnea, with awe, touched the horse, checking its authenticity. She searched for the minuscule chip in its left rear hoof. A blemish only she knew the intimate and gutting origins of. Yes, it was there. “Thank you,” she cried, pressing her face into Everett’s button-down, inhaling Calvin Klein’s Obsession, a fragrance he hadn’t worn since they were teenagers, and, over the years Linnea had grown to hate. But what did she feel now?

She leaned out from his arms and admired the Dala horse once more.

Everett checked to make sure she was satisfied, then slowly closed the lid, and re-locked the case.

“Mom?” Taylor questioned, sparing his father a glance. “Seriously, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry, I just need a moment.” Fatigued, Linnea sank into the leather ottoman at the base of its matching chair. She looked to her ex-husband, her son. When she saw Taylor’s face contort, as if pleading for her not to say it, she broke down.

Everett looked to Taylor as if offering first dibs at consoling.

Instead, Taylor tensed his shoulders. “I can get you to a better doctor. We can go to Mayo or Sloan Kettering.”

“He’s right, Lin,” said Everett.

Taylor scoffed at his dad. “Like you care.”

Linnea intervened, “Let it go, your dad is all you’re going to have left.”

She watched her son dam his emotions, and he said evenly, “If you die I have no one.”

“C’mon,” started Everett, “what am I supposed to do when you block my number⁠—”

“Ha! Try it. I’ve had it unblocked for a year.”

“You can’t call me⁠—?”

“Who never gave a single shit about being a dad?”

“Cut the drama, you’re a grown man. I was a kid when I had you.”

Taylor flapped his hand in a bored, dismissive fashion. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Stop.” Linnea’s sob silenced their bickering.

Taylor went to the window and stared out the large windows, his back facing them.

Everett’s jaw hardened, and he planted his hands on his hips before finally tossing them up. “I’m always the one who tries.” He seemed to hesitate, and then quickly pecked her on the forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning, hopefully with more good news. Call if you need me.”

Taylor glowered at his father’s retreating form and mumbled, “It took him all of—what—three seconds to pull the victim card?”