me.
I knew better.
But because protecting someone for twenty years makes stepping aside difficult.
Then Vanessa looked up.
Her eyes met mine.
And suddenly I remembered another version of her.
Ten years old.
Standing in Aunt Carol’s hallway.
Holding my shirt.
“Promise you won’t leave me too.”
For years, I had thought keeping that promise meant carrying everyone myself.
Maybe now it meant something else.
Maybe staying didn’t always mean controlling what happened next.
Maybe sometimes it simply meant remaining nearby while the people you loved made choices you couldn’t make for them.
I walked into the kitchen.
Then I pulled out a chair.
And sat down.
Part 9 — The Things We Could Never Get Back
In the weeks that followed, the girls began opening the rest of Vanessa’s letters.
Not all at once.
Some were too painful.
Some were almost unbearably ordinary.
Vanessa had
