Chapter 15
The packed boxes came upstairs one by one.
I let Livia choose where everything went.
Sofia’s photograph returned beside her bed.
The blue cardigan went into the closet even though it barely fit anymore.
The memorial pendant stayed in Livia’s jewelry box.
Some toys she no longer wanted.
We donated them.
Choice again.
Not preservation for preservation’s sake.
One afternoon she found a box of Sofia’s letters.
“Can I read?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Big words.”
She frowned.
“I know big words.”
“Not these.”
She accepted that reluctantly.
I promised to read them with her when she was older.
Then she asked:
“Did Mommy like Bianca?”
I almost lied.
Stopped.
“They didn’t really know each other.”
“Did Bianca like Mommy?”
I thought.
“No.”
“Why?”
Harder.
“Sometimes people get jealous of someone they think they can’t replace.”
Livia stared.
“Mommy is dead.”
I winced.
Children again.
Cruel clarity without cruelty.
“Yes.”
“So Bianca was being silly.”
I almost smiled.
“Very.”
She nodded and returned the letters to the box.
Years from now, the answer would become more complex.
For now, simple was enough.
That evening, I stood in Livia’s doorway and looked at Sofia’s photograph.
I had spent years keeping the picture there because I feared Livia would forget.
Bianca feared the opposite.
That Livia would remember too well.
Maybe both of us had made Sofia larger than life in different ways.
I touched the frame.
Then left it where Livia wanted it.
May you like
Not because grief demanded it.
Because my daughter chose it.
