Lily was gone, but she was not finished. Grief had nailed me to the floor, days dissolving into a blur of silence and unanswered calls. Then the school rang. An envelope. My name in her handwriting. A key. An address. A storage unit filled with boxes, letters, a final request that would drag me, shaking, back into the wo… Continues… She had prepared an entire afterlife I could touch. In that storage unit, surrounded by boxes with my name on them, I realized my thirteen-year-old had understood everything I refused to face. Letters for every future breakdown. Lists of people...
Continues…