The designer bag sits open in my lap. It feels lighter than it looks, holding its shape even though, without the phone, it appears to be relatively empty. Curious and unable to resist, I tilt my head to peek inside, and my heart does an unexpected twist behind my breastbone at the sight of the shaggy coin purse she must use as a wallet, the simple Burt’s Bees lip balm, her passport, and her scuffed house keys on the same UCLA key chain she’s had ever since we lived together years ago. Anna truly has nothing.
This made me so sad
