dress hung on the laundry-room door, soft blue silk I’d saved for months to afford.
The handcrafted guest book I’d spent weeks creating. The emergency kit of fashion tape and aspirin and Band-Aids I’d assembled for tomorrow.
“Desaparece de mi vida,” I whispered to the empty room, testing how the words felt in my mouth.
Disappear from my life.
Perhaps after all these years, it was time to give my daughter exactly what she’d asked for.
I reached for my laptop, opened it, and began to type.
Morning light filtering
