On Mother’s Day, a little girl appears at my door holding my son’s backpack—revealing a truth I was never meant to find.

dinosaurs.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“He said you liked them.”

I pressed the unfinished toy against my chest.

I had said that once months earlier, over an ugly unicorn mug with a chipped handle.

“He remembered that?” I whispered.

Sarah nodded.

“I think he remembered everything.”

Under the yarn was a card.

“Mom, it’s not done yet.

Don’t laugh. Sarah continue reading …