Neither of us abandoned the other.
We had simply spent more than two decades standing on opposite sides of the same lie, each believing the other was gone.
Now, whenever Amelia visits, she usually takes something home from Claire’s box.
A photograph.
A letter.
A handwritten copy of the pie recipe.
She took the old scarf too.
She wears it constantly now, draped over everything.
Exactly like Claire did before suddenly deciding she hated it.
The cardboard box on the top shelf of my closet gets emptier every month.
Once, that would have terrified me.
Now it makes me happy.
Those things were never meant to remain hidden in darkness forever, waiting for someone who might never return.
And neither was Amelia.
