The last words I ever said to her were, “Then go. See how far you get.”
I have hated that sentence ever since.
I hated the coldness of it. The pride. The certainty that she would come back.
Because that was what I expected.
I thought she would storm down the street, cool off for twenty minutes, then return with that stubborn look on her face.
Instead, she disappeared.
That afternoon, she stood in our doorway carrying the beach bag I had knitted for her that spring.
Cream-colored yarn.
Continue on the next page:
