like mildly terrifying dinosaurs.
Dena became Marin’s godmother and then something simpler.
Family.
The kind you choose awake.
Every December, I sent exactly one thing north.
A Christmas card to June.
Marin’s school photo inside.
My return address clearly printed.
No phone number.
No request.
One card every year into the silence because some part of me refused to let the road disappear entirely.
I never knew whether June read them.
I didn’t know if she believed my mother’s version.
I would eventually get that answer.
It would be hiding
