The weeks after that first café meeting unfolded with a careful tenderness, like stepping onto a frozen lake one deliberate footfall at a time. None of us wanted to rush what had taken four decades to surface. Rose and I spoke often on the phone at first—long conversations that wandered through childhood memories, favorite seasons, small preferences that felt oddly significant. Each shared detail felt like uncovering a loose thread that had always existed, waiting to be tugged.
Eventually, I invited her to the house.
The morning she came, I opened every curtain Grandma Evelyn had once drawn with ritual precision. Sunlight poured into the rooms she had kept immaculate, illuminating the scuffs on the floor where furniture had been moved and lived around. Rose paused in the doorway, visibly steadying herself, her eyes traveling slowly over the familiar-unfamiliar space.
“She liked windows,” Rose said softly. “I can feel it.”
“She did,” I replied. “She believed light kept a house honest.”
We walked through the rooms together. The kitchen stopped Rose cold. She ran her fingers along the edge of the counter, the same place Evelyn used to tap absentmindedly while waiting for water to boil. I watched recognition ripple through her—not memory, exactly, but resonance. A knowing that bypassed logic.
In the living room, I showed her the quilt folded neatly over the armchair. Evelyn had stitched it over several winters, each square cut from scraps of clothing she could never quite part with. Rose knelt beside it, pressing her palm flat against the fabric.
“She kept busy,” Rose murmured.
“She survived,” I corrected gently.
We saved the basement for last.
I asked her if she wanted to see it. I made sure she knew she didn’t have to. Rose nodded without hesitation.
The stairs creaked the same way they always had. The air still smelled faintly of cedar. When Rose saw the boxes—still stacked, still labeled in that elegant cursive—she covered her mouth with her hand and cried without sound. I didn’t touch her. Some grief needs room.
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