Nora sits at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee. The New York Times lies in front of her, folded open to the crossword puzzle. She has completed five words and is losing interest; it doesn't seem that important. The morning light is gray and harsh, a quiet drizzle of rain sending crystal trickles down the window.
Outside, school children have formed a bedraggled line in front of the bus stop, their brightly colored raincoats vivid against the mid-winter bleakeness of the houses across the street. Nora turns away. It hurts to see that.
She wonders where the boys are now, hoping they're all right. Really, she should have gone back to work today, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Still, what good has it done to have stayed here? I have to move on with my life, she tells herself. I can't dwell in the past two months indefinitely. I knew this moment was coming. If I wasn't going to be able to handle it, I should have realized that back at the beginning.
Who am I kidding, she thinks. There was nothing else I could have done.