In the weeks that followed, I kept visiting her. At first, she resisted, convinced she didn’t deserve kindness. But slowly, she opened up. She told me about Jacob — how he loved dinosaurs and pancakes, how he used to call her “Supermom” even when she felt broken.
I told her about my own struggles — my ex, Mason, walking out with our house; the nights I cried quietly so Stan wouldn’t hear.
“So can you,” I replied.
And she did.
Months later, Anna started volunteering at the children’s hospital, reading to kids fighting cancer. She’d call me after every shift, her voice brighter each time. “One of them called me Auntie Anna today,” she said once, laughing through tears.
Then one day, she showed up at my apartment holding a small box. Inside was a gold locket.
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