damaged zipper shattered a lie that had survived an entire year.
The truth.
If that zipper had held together for one more morning, I might still be walking past Cynthia’s photographs, wondering whether she was alive.
And Cynthia might still be sitting near that beach house, wondering why I had stopped looking for her.
Instead, I found her.
Or maybe, in her own quiet way, Cynthia had found a way to lead me back to her.
