That night I found a small box in the bottom of a moving carton.

It contained the silver paper and red ribbon I’d packed away months earlier.

My stomach tightened as I held it.

I could have thrown it into the trash and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

Instead, I placed it inside a sealed envelope marked for the case records we retained with our attorney.

The physical evidence was already with investigators; this was simply my personal reminder not to confuse forgetting with healing.

Then I closed the carton.