ADVERTISEMENT
it every night. Now it is yours.”
Lily hugged it.
Named it Button.
I watched my daughter hold a piece of my childhood that I did not remember giving away.
Something about it felt wrong.
Not the bear itself.
The way my mother placed it in Lily’s arms.
Carefully. Deliberately. Like she was planting a flag.
The changes came slowly.
The way a faucet drips before continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT
