Hoenheim put the hammock up before he left; she can remember lying in his arms as they swung gently, and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. Sometimes, she stares at it, watching it sway in the breeze. It looks as empty as she sometimes feels, and somehow, that makes it a little easier to bear.
One day, she finds her sons there instead, curled together with Winry like puppies in a basket. Al leans his head on Ed’s shoulder, Winry on his chest. In the dappled shade, they are eternal, these children of summer.
Trisha leaves them be.