Mom’s grave was still there.
Beside it was the marker we’d once believed belonged to Rebecca.
That stone had been removed after Simone was identified.
The patch of earth looked strangely ordinary.
Rebecca stood beside me.
“I used to imagine coming back,” she said.
I waited.
“In my head, everyone forgave me immediately because I was alive.”
“That would’ve been convenient.”
She gave a sad laugh.
“Very.”
Then she looked toward Mom’s grave.
“I thought being alive would be enough.”
I understood what she meant.
For the people who loved her, her survival was miraculous.
But survival didn’t erase consequences.
Trauma explained the door Rebecca had walked through.
It didn’t explain every year she chose not to walk back.
“I am glad you’re alive,” I told her.
She looked at me.
“But?”
“No but.”
She waited.
“I’m glad you’re alive. I’m angry about what you did. I love you. I don’t completely trust you yet. I hope someday I will.”
