name without lowering his voice.
I still didn’t forgive him.
On Sunday afternoon, Sophie sat at my kitchen table coloring while the sunflower sweater rested beside me.
“Grandma?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you still waiting for your sister?”
I looked at the brown sunflower petal Mom had once wanted to redo.
“No.”
Sophie frowned.
“But don’t you want her to come?”
“I do.”
“Then aren’t you waiting?”
I smiled at her.
“No, sweetheart. There’s a difference between leaving the door open and spending your whole life standing in the doorway.”
I carefully
