Not because pain had ended.

But because love had outlasted every person who tried to cheapen it.

And because somewhere in three young lives still unfolding, Colleen Ashford continued.

Not as tragedy.

As legacy.

A dead woman had prepared for the worst.
A grieving mother had finished the work.
And three children had grown up inside the shelter both women built.

That was the end of the story.

And also, in the only way that mattered, the beginning of everything that came after.

THE END.