She flipped a few more pages, the entries skipping years and then circling back as though he couldn’t stop reopening the same wound. One in particular made her chest tighten. That day at the lake stays with me. Miriam argued over some knot, stubborn in a way that cut deeper than it should have.
It was her tone; sharp, insistent, and for a moment I heard my mother’s voice instead of hers. The same corrections, the same certainty that I was never enough. I saw Ruth in her, clear as if she were standing there again, and I couldn’t stop myself. I pushed Miriam away. And since then, every glance has been the same.