The last time I saw my first love was on my 17th birthday—thirty years later, a woman who looked exactly like her stepped into my yard

Our birthday, she’d always called it, because Lily insisted on claiming partial credit for the day.

“She placed this herself,” Ashley said. “She came up here every year on that date.”

I stood there for a long time.

She hadn’t marked the place where she died.

She’d marked the place where she lost me.

Ashley was crying. I was crying. We stood on a hill above continue reading …