Years went by, and life moved forward, as it always does. I went to college, fell in love, got married, and had a daughter of my own. The cardigan remained untouched, carefully preserved but unseen, tucked away like a time capsule of guilt and love I wasn’t ready to face. Occasionally, when I cleaned out my closet, I’d catch a glimpse of it — that bright red color standing out against a sea of muted clothes. I’d run my hand over the soft wool and then quietly put it back. It was too painful.
My daughter, Emma, is fifteen now. She’s full of life — curious, emotional, and with that same streak of stubbornness I once had. A few weeks ago, we decided to do a little spring cleaning together. She loves helping me go through old boxes and uncovering “treasures,” as she calls them. That day, she pulled out the old cardboard box that had sat untouched for decades.Continue reading…
