She had always been so kind. More compassionate towards him than he could even stand, sometimes, for her unyielding faith made his every stumble feel so much more extreme.

There was always so much at stake.

And she was right, that he could still try to change. Every day brought another opportunity to do so, to try harder, to try again when he failed. Nettie was so much more than he deserved, because –

as desperately as he wished to be better than he was,

the wanting did not make him any better.

Malachi felt more alive that morning than he had felt in decades, looking like a corpse. He wanted to believe her, and to change for her sake, but a growing, selfish part of him wanted to get worse.

He pushed his face into his other hand again, holding the handkerchief against his forehead.

“Nettie,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“Do you remember very much of your grandfather?”