But sorrow is unreliable in that way. When people don't share it there's a good chance that it will drive them apart instead.

He was never able to properly explain what happened to him that day. But he stopped being happy.

We can busy ourselves with living or with dying, Ove. We have to move on. And that's how it was.

Maybe their sorrow over children that never came should have brought the two men closer. But sorrow is unreliable in that way. When people don't share it there's a good chance that it will drive them apart instead.

Around them, the dawn gently wakes Borg like someone breathing into the ear of someone they love. With sun and promises. Tickling light falls over warm duvets, like the smell of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread. It shouldn't be doing this. It's the wrong day to be beautiful, but the dawn doesn't care.