Inside were the bandage rings, a copy of the note, and the movie ticket she had insisted I keep after a screening in the hospital’s small recreation room.

Sometimes I opened it.

Sometimes I didn’t.

The Lantern House was operating under a board-approved budget.

The clinic had become part of my ordinary life.

Paige was settling into Seattle and sending pictures of terrible beginner paintings, proudly signed with her initials.

Thomas called me when his garden grew too many tomatoes.

I still missed Chloe.