Our mother was gone.
Nothing could change that.
Nothing could return the years.
And I eventually understood that reconciliation is not a time machine.
It doesn’t erase what happened.
It simply gives you somewhere different to go next.
My father and I never completely repaired what his decision had done.
But before he died, he apologized to Laura directly.
She listened.
She didn’t absolve him instantly.
I respected her for that.
Some wounds deserve honesty before forgiveness.
Sophie still has the cream sweater.
We had it professionally cleaned and repaired, though the sunflower remains exactly where it always was.
The little hidden pocket is still there.
The wooden sunflower now sits on my bookshelf beside an old photograph of Laura and me when we were fifteen.
Two girls.
Same face.
Same smile.
Neither knowing what the next year would take from us.
For most of my life, I thought peace would come from solving the mystery.
