No erasure.
Proportion.
After the funeral, Claire handed Ethan something.
The original restored photograph.
Rachel.
Mom.
Dad.
Yellow roses.
Daniel had kept a copy on his desk for years.
On the back, he’d written:
Look at her.
Ethan stared.
Then smiled sadly.
He kept it.
The wooden box remained in his home.
Maya once asked:
“Do you want to put it somewhere less visible?”
It sat on a bookshelf.
He thought.
“No.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“Because hiding boxes caused enough trouble in this family.”
She laughed.
Fair.
The box stayed.
Not shrine.
Reminder.
Truth does better in daylight.
-END OF Chapter 4–Part 5
I was ninety-one when Ethan came to visit me for the last time.
I did not know it would be the last.
Most last times are rude that way.
He was fifty-five.
Gray in his beard.
Still carrying groceries without being asked? No. He asked now.
