My grandmother’s necklace went back around my neck, where it belongs.

I don’t wear it as a charm against harm anymore.

I wear it as a reminder that I survived the people who knew exactly where to find the softest part of me and reached for it on purpose.

Wesley visits on Sunday afternoons.

To him, the coffin isn’t a nightmare — it’s the funny family story about the time Aunt Madelyn opened her eyes and made every grown-up in the house lose their mind.

He drew me a picture of it once: a big wooden box with a smiling woman inside wearing a red superhero cape.