I place the seashell around my neck. It’s cold against my skin, and heavy, and every time I take a step, I feel it pressing on my chest, reminding me that at least once, there was someone who made me feel loved out loud. And I’ll accept nothing less again. Suddenly, the answer to Fisher’s question becomes so clear. I am coming back. And I’m going to take everything from my uncle the same way he’s taken everything from me.
