The door had that familiar creak, the one I always told myself I would fix. After Harley left me, it didn’t seem necessary to fix. The creak almost served as a reminder that there used to be life beyond that door. When I finally pulled my eyes up from the pink carpet, Cherie was tickling Harley. Both stopped when they noticed me and held smiles on their faces. Her hair. Harley’s curls fell onto her shoulders, big and vibrant as I remembered before chemo had taken it from her. One side was held back with a butterfly barrette; she looked beautiful, sitting next to her mother.
