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Some nights, when the pain flared or the memories of all she had loved and lost began to suffocate rather than soothe, she wondered what would happen if she left the doors unlatched. Left fate to take its course. If death awaited her, so be it. It awaited her soon enough either way. And if the visitor who darkened her doorstep each night at 10 o’clock sharp was indeed who he professed to be, then wouldn’t the reunion have been worth the risk? She thought of that voice, the way it pleaded each night for her to let it in.
A few moments later, she heard the familiar sound: the squeak of fingers against the glass as it tried to push up the window. Why it didn’t just break it, or break down one of the doors, for that matter, Mrs. Grayson had not the faintest clue. All she knew was that so long as she remembered to lock them, the thing would go away.
“We will be together again one day, sugar plum. I will never stop trying.
Some things never changed. Because if they did, the whole world might unravel at the seams.
Because there was still some magic buried deep in this old world, and if you did things just right, in just the precise order, you could touch it sometimes.
Freezing a moment in time so she and her family could live within it forever.
But life just keeps coming at you, wave after wave. She’d lost focus of what mattered – again – and had been swept away.
