A small black ant was dragging a dried brown leaf across the gray pavement.

I thought about my eighth birthday party in our backyard.

My mother had spent five hours decorating a cake shaped like a pony, staying up past midnight to dye three separate bowls of pink frosting.

That woman felt like a total stranger now, or maybe she had never really existed outside my own wishful thinking.

A heavy ache settled behind my ribs and pulled tight until I had to swallow twice to breathe normally.

“Claire?” Kevin asked softly.