Page 12 of Heart of a Hero

“I understand,” Mark admitted. “I’m a single dad. I have a ten-year-old son. Benji. And like you, once I get home, have dinner, and make sure homework is done, I’m beat.”

Scoffing softly, she leaned her hip against the side of her vehicle, apparently not in a hurry. This simple fact filled Mark with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

“Yet you lead a youth running group and make these meetings,” she teased.

“Hey, don’t think I’m Superman. My dad lives with us and helps out. He makes most of the meals, gets Benji off the bus, and handles things when I can’t. Plus, I was raised out here, so when Benji and I moved back, we had a lot of support.” He shifted slightly, leaning his own hip against her car, and for the first time, he realized how at ease he felt standing there with her, talking about their lives.

“Do you mind if I ask if Benji’s mom is in the picture?” she asked gently, her eyes searching his.

Mark’s heart gave a little tug, and he realized he hadn’t fully explained. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear,” he said quietly. “I’m a widower. Benji’s mom passed away five years ago.”

Karen’s expression softened instantly. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his hand in a gesture that was both simple and profoundly comforting. “I’m so sorry.”

Her touch was warm, and for a moment, the weight of their shared loss hung between them, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words. “I’m sorry for your loss, too, Karen,” he replied, his voice low.

For a while, they stood in the stillness, neither rushing to fill the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it felt like a shared moment, heavy with meaning but not with burden. Mark realized with a startle that he hadn’t had many conversations like this—not with someone who truly understood what it waslike to lose a spouse, to carry the weight of grief while raising a child alone, and to navigate life in a different way than planned.

He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a quiet sense of possibility, standing there with Karen, her hand in his, in the calm of the night.

5

Karen felt lost in Mark’s eyes. Then, strangely, she felt found. Seen. Understood in a way she hadn’t expected.

In the four years since losing her husband, she had been surrounded by sympathy—heartfelt words of comfort, prayers for healing, the warmth of hugs from friends and even strangers, and shared tears in a grief support group. It had all helped, each gesture a balm for the rawness of her grief. But in all that time, she had never honestly held someone’s gaze like this or felt that deep, unspoken understanding she was feeling now, standing in front of Mark.

Something about him reached straight to her soul. It wasn’t just his words—it was everything about him. During the meeting, she’d found herself noticing the most minor details. The way his fingers had curled gently around her hand when the coffee had spilled and the quiet concern in his eyes. The sound of his voice, calm and steady yet filled with passion as he spoke about the youth running program. The faint scent of pine and sandalwood lingered around him, masculine and comforting all at once. And the way his hand had rested lightly on her back as they walked out of the building, the simple touch bringing back the sweet feeling of a man walking with her.

Now, as she leaned against her vehicle, the soft glow of the streetlamp casting shadows over their faces, Karen let out a shaky breath. “I believe you do understand, Mark. And while I’m so sorry you lost your wife, I’m… I’m really glad we met. Widowhood is strange. You want to talk to someone who gets it, but at the same time, you’d never wish it on anyone else.”

Mark nodded, his expression softening. “I know exactly what you mean. Just a minute ago, I was thinking that you’re the first person around my age I’ve had a real conversation with who’s been through the same thing. Who knows what it’s like.”

There was a pause, a heaviness in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Karen felt the urge to ask more about his wife, about how he’d lost her, but she held back. If something grew between them—whether a friendship or something more—the details would come in time. She knew all too well what it felt like to have someone ask too soon, to pry into wounds that weren’t ready to be shared.

Wanting to shift the mood to something lighter, Karen offered a gentle smile. “Your son’s name is Benji?”

Mark’s face brightened instantly, a broad smile breaking across his features. There was no mistaking the pride and love in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. His full name is Benjamin, but he’s been Benji for as long as I can remember. The name just fits him.”

The warmth in his voice, the way his entire demeanor softened at the mention of his son, made Karen’s heart squeeze. It was the same way she felt when talking about her own daughters. A shared bond. “I love that,” Karen said, her smile growing. “I bet Benji keeps you on your toes.”

Karen felt a wave of unexpected connection blossoming between them. It wasn’t just the shared experience of loss—it was the way they spoke about their children, the way they both lit up when talking about the people they loved most.

For the first time in a long time, Karen felt the possibility of something new—something she hadn’t allowed herself to think about in years. And as she stood there, under the soft light of the streetlamp, sharing quiet conversation with Mark, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something beautiful.

“What grade is he in?”

“Fifth.” Mark shook his head. “Sometimes, I can’t believe it. His last year of elementary school, and then he’ll be in middle school.”

“Tell me about it.” She groaned while rolling her eyes. “Olivia is in seventh grade, and Laura is in ninth grade at Baytown High School.” She dropped her chin and stared at her shoes for a moment. “I still can’t believe I have a daughter in high school.”

“I don’t think anyone looking at you would believe that. You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”

She lifted her head. “It’s funny, but sometimes Ifeeltoo young, and other times, I feel so old!”

“God, I know what you mean. I used to think that someone who was forty was old, but now? I’m there and think I can’t be this age.”

She smiled, and her eyes radiated sincerity… and what he hoped was interest. He sure as hell was interested in discovering more about her. “Where were you from originally?”

“Everywhere.” She relaxed, settling into the comfortable conversation. “I was an Army brat. My brother and I were raised in Texas, North Carolina, Kansas, Germany, and South Korea. We both followed in our dad’s footsteps and joined the Army. My parents have passed, but my brother still serves, now a captain stationed at Fort Bliss.”

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