Page 40 of Wild Heart
The grave was simple. Just a low, earthen mound beneath a canopy of pine and aspen, the morning light filtering through the leaves like threads of gold.
The air smelled of loam and lavender, from the bundles placed lovingly on the fresh soil, some from the sanctuary’s gardens, others gathered by neighbors from the woods Olivia had once walked.
The service had been quiet, gentle. There had been tears, of course, whole rivers of them, but there had also been laughter.
Memories. A thousand small stories offered like prayer.
Now, as the others began to drift away toward the lodge and the warm fire inside, the burial ground emptied slowly. Except for the four of them.
Mason stood with one hand resting on Davey’s shoulder, his grip steady and warm.
Davey hadn’t moved since the last handful of soil had fallen on the coffin.
His shoulders were hunched, his face turned downward, and the raw, open sorrow that had taken root in him seemed heavier now than ever.
Mason stayed silent, letting the stillness settle between them.
He knew there were no perfect words for this kind of goodbye.
No way to mend the wound of losing a mother in a single breath or gesture.
But he could be here. He could show up, the way Olivia always had.
“She would’ve hated this,” Davey finally said, his voice cracking. “All the fuss.”
Mason managed a small smile. “Probably.”
They stood there for a moment longer, the wind curling through the trees. Livvy let out a soft whimper from Natalie’s chest where she slept, swaddled tightly, sensing the sorrow around her.
“She’d be proud of you,” Mason said to his son, his voice low. “For how you’ve handled this. For how you’ve stepped up for the sanctuary. For Natalie. For Livvy.”
Davey wiped his sleeve across his face, still not looking up. “I don’t know how to do this without her.”
“You don’t have to,” Mason said gently. “You have us. You have me.”
Davey turned then, finally meeting his eyes. And in that glance, Mason saw the boy he’d missed, the man he was becoming, and the bridge they were building, slowly, painfully, together.
“Come on,” Mason said softly, guiding him away from the grave. “They’re waiting for us at the lodge.”
Davey nodded, letting Mason lead him down the trail. But Natalie stayed behind.
She watched them walk away, father and son, bound now by something deeper than blood, something that had been forged in fire and sealed with loss.
She adjusted Livvy in her sling, careful not to wake her, then knelt slowly beside the grave.
Her knees pressed into the damp earth, her hand settling on the soft mound of soil like she was touching the surface of memory .
She took a breath and began to speak, her voice low and sure. “I’m here,” she whispered.
A single crow called from a tree nearby, and the wind moved through the canopy above, shifting the light like stained glass across the grave.
“I don’t know how to do this without you either,” she said. “The mornings feel wrong. The paths are too quiet. The barn doesn’t creak the same without your boots in it.”
She closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. “But I’ll keep going,” she said. “Because you asked me to.”
Livvy stirred, a hand curling against Natalie’s chest.
“I’ll look after the animals. Every last one.
I’ll give them names, learn their stories.
I’ll make sure no creature under this roof is ever alone or unloved.
I’ll train the interns, I’ll balance the damn budget.
I’ll fight the developers if they come sniffing around again.
And I’ll keep the firewood stacked just how you liked it. ”
Her voice caught, then steadied.
“I’ll look after Mason too. You knew before I did how deep that love ran. And Davey... I’ll be there for him. He’s finding his way, Liv. He’s stronger than he knows.”
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a thin, leather-bound notebook. Olivia’s field journal. “I’ll read this cover to cover. I’ll teach Livvy what you taught me. About the wild. About how to listen. About how to be brave.”
She brushed her fingers over the soil again.
“You were never meant to stay inside,” she whispered. “You were always wild. I think a part of you belonged to the trees. To the rain. To every animal you saved. You were the sanctuary before it had a name, and you will forever be in my heart.”
She swallowed the ache and pressed her palm to the ground.
“You’re still here,” she said. “In every trail. Every cry. Every heartbeat. ”
She stood slowly, careful not to disturb the baby, and looked up through the trees. The sky was blue now, open and wide, and the first leaves were starting to turn, amber, gold, crimson.
Natalie closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
Then she turned and walked back toward the lodge, toward the waiting arms of her family, toward the life they would build now, piece by piece, in the echo of Olivia’s love. And behind her, the forest rustled softly. Alive with the memory of the one who had loved it best.