Underneath an old craft, I found a Polaroid—me, missing a tooth, sitting in his lap. He wore that same flannel shirt I always borrowed when I was sick.
It was still hanging in his room.
I put it on and stepped outside.
The air was cool. I sat on the porch, hugging my knees.
I texted Frank.
“Thank you. I understand now. I know how loved I was.”
