Page 43 of Remain
“Delivery,” she announces. “And surprise, I got your favorite.” She pulls a paper bag from her tote and dangles it in front of my face like she’s presenting a rare artifact.
Dobbs Bakery. Home of the best croissants I’ve ever had in my life, the kind where you can actually taste the care baked into every flaky layer.
I take the cup she offers and wrap my hands around it, holding on like it’s something I can tether myself to. I look up at her over the rim and shake my head. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m a hero,” she corrects, toeing the door shut behind her. Her eyes flick over me, my coat tossed over the chair, myhair still half-wrong, the way I’m standing like I haven’t fully landed yet. She settles onto the edge of the counter like she’s bracing herself, laptop already halfway out of her bag.
“Okay, so…” she begins, dripping with impatience. “You’re home. You’re upright. That means you’re about to emotionally destroy me. Start talking.”
I take a sip, the bite of it keeping me here in the present.
“I went to Pineview to sign paperwork,” I begin. “That was it. Release the house. Final signatures. In and out.”
Lena snorts. “Sure. Pineview is famous for its efficiency.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “Aunt Carol had already packed everything. Every room stripped down and boxed, all of it stacked neatly along the walls like the house was trying not to fall apart. She’d set a few boxes off to the side for me. The things she said were only for me to see and to know.”
Lena’s expression softens. “That’s Aunt Carol. She sounds wonderful. I want to meet her someday.”
“She came over that night with soup and sat with me as I sobbed on the floor of my childhood bedroom for one last night. I was so overwhelmed that I just started opening boxes,” I continue. “Just trying to get through it. And one of them wasn’t labeled at all.”
She leans in hanging on my every word.
“It was photos,” I say. “Stacks of them. Bundled by year.”
I swallow. “The Christmas Kindness Drive. The one I grew up thinking was just… what December looked like.”
Lena nods slowly. “Your normal.”
“Yeah.” I breathe out. “But what I found out was that my mom started it. With Erik’s family.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wait.ErikErik?”
“His mom was struggling one winter,” I recount the story, pausing for emotion when it boils up. “Money, food, everything. His mom just packed up the boys with the clothes ontheir back, heading for safety. I don’t know how but my mom found out and just… did what she did. Showed up with boxes. No announcement. No credit. Just help.”
Lena’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Of course she did.”
“And it changed his life,” I add. “That’s what he told me. That someone seeing them, really seeing them, shifted everything for him.”
I stare down at my cup. Lena wipes a single tear from her eye.
“He helped, Lena. Every year. Especially after I left.”
Lena exhales slowly. “Sav…”
“When Mom got sick, he stepped in,” I say. “Fully. Organized it. Ran it. Made sure it didn’t disappear just because she couldn’t be there the way she used to.”
“And the photos?” she asks gently.
“He took every single one,” the words finally landing my body as I say them out loud. “Every year since I left. Same angle. Same place. Like he was documenting proof.” My voice tightens. “So one day, if I came home, it wouldn’t feel like I missed everything.”
Lena goes quiet for a long moment. “That is…heartbreakingly beautiful.”
“It didn’t feel beautiful at first,” I admit. “It felt overwhelming, like I was discovering a version of my mom and of him that existed without me. That I didn’t know that kind of depth of kindness could even exist.”
She studies me. “And now?”
“Now it feels like he carried something for me,” my voice whimpers. “Something I didn’t even know I’d dropped.”