Home Entertainment Game Technology Advertisement Part 2: For eight years, my parents made me leave the house every time my brother brought his fiance over; Mom said, “She comes from a good family, don’t embarrass us”; Dad added, “Just disappear for the weekend”; I did; then one weekend, I never came back; it took them four years to find out where I went.

If she asked why nobody visited a grave, Mom said I had been cremated.

If she asked why my name wasn't on a cemetery marker, Dad said my ashes had been scattered privately.

“And you believed all of that?”

My voice came out harsher than I intended.

Avery nodded.

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes.

She looked ashamed.

“I knew them.”

I whispered.

“You didn't.”

“No.”

“That's the difference.”

Then she said:

“The dogwood.”

My eyes opened.

“What?”

“The tree you sold me.”

The church memorial garden.

The healthy dogwood I'd selected years earlier.

My handwritten tag:

Graft is good. Water deep the first summer. She'll bloom.

Avery's eyes filled.

“That tree was for you.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

“Mitch's family had lost someone.”

she said softly.

“That's what I told you at the nursery.”

“Your family.”

“Yes.”

“I thought I was buying a memorial tree for my fiancé's dead sister.”