you had wasn’t Daniel.”
Then she left.
I didn’t forgive her.
I still haven’t.
Months later, on a cold Saturday morning, I found a box on my porch.
The same banana box.
The tape had been cut and resealed.
I carried it inside.
Daniel had kept everything.
The pacifier.
Toy truck.
Receipts.
Schedules.
School forms.
Drawing.
Tiny sock.
Every note Elliot had written.
And on top was something new.
A piece of yellow legal paper.
Folded in thirds.
I opened it.
You were right, Elliot.
I remembered the burden and
