Her purple sweater, the one with the unicorn print she insisted on wearing even in the summer, the tiny jeans with patches on the knees from all her adventures, and the little socks with ruffles she’d loved so much felt nostalgic.
“Mom, where should I pack these books?” our 17-year-old son Eric called from upstairs.
I stood in front of the hallway mirror, smoothing down my favorite dress. The same dress I wore on that fateful day.
“Coming, honey!” I replied, my voice catching slightly as I hurried up to help him pack for college.
I found him in his room, surrounded by cardboard boxes and memories. Abraham was there too, carefully wrapping Eric’s high school trophies with newspaper.
My heart swelled seeing them together — father and son, so alike in their careful movements and gentle spirits.
“Mom, look what I found in the attic,” Eric said, holding up a worn teddy bear he placed on the bed. “Wasn’t this Penny’s?”
Abraham’s hands froze in the middle of wrapping. “Your sister loved that bear,” he said softly. “She used to take it everywhere. Remember how she’d sneak it to school in her backpack, Darcy?”
“Even after her teacher said big girls don’t need teddy bears,” I whispered, remembering how fiercely she’d defended her furry friend. “She named him Mr. Butterscotch because of his color.”
The memories flooded back, unstoppable now. It was Penny’s seventh birthday that fateful Saturday morning.
Her excited squeals as we pulled into the amusement park’s parking lot still echoed in my ears. The way she bounced in her car seat, her birthday crown slightly crooked on her glossy curls… God, how could I forget that?
The morning sun had caught her silver heart locket, a special gift from her father.
“Can we go on all the rides, Darcy? Please?” Her smile had been impossible to resist. “Daddy says I’m big enough now! I’m seven years old!”
“Birthday girl gets to choose,” I told her, watching her skip ahead of me toward the amusement park entrance.
She’d worn her special birthday outfit — a ruffled white dress with a huge bow. Her white sneakers had butterflies lighting up on the sides.
I remembered checking my watch. We had two hours until her surprise party back home. “Just a few rides, sweetie,” I’d said. “We’ve got another surprise waiting.”
“Really? What kind of surprise?” She bounced on her toes, her hair dancing.
“Is it a pony? Jenny got a pony for her birthday! Or maybe it’s that butterfly costume I saw at the mall?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” I laughed, already picturing her face upon seeing the butterfly-themed party Abraham and I had planned. The cake with purple frosting was hidden in Mrs. Freddie’s fridge next door.
“You’re the best stepmom ever! I can’t wait to call you my real mommy after you marry Daddy!” she declared, throwing her arms around my waist. I didn’t know then that it would be the last time I would feel her warmth.
Standing in Eric’s room now, I watched Abraham carefully place the bear in a box marked “MEMORIES.”
His hands lingered on the worn fur, and I saw the shadows cross his face. The same shadows that had appeared every year on Penny’s birthday, every time we passed a playground, and every time we saw a little girl with dark curls.
“Darcy, you’re wearing THAT dress?” he said suddenly, looking up at me. His voice was different. It was sharp and focused.
The gentle father from moments ago disappeared, replaced by someone harder. His fingers gripped the edge of the box until his knuckles turned white.
The room grew smaller. “I—yes, I am.”
“It’s the same one from that day, right?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a dagger to my heart. I nodded slowly as a shadow crossed Abraham’s face, and something in his tone made me want to run.
“It’s been 18 years. But you know, I’ve been wondering, especially after seeing this dress looking so pristine. How did you survive the accident when my daughter didn’t?”
My fingers found the fabric and twisted it nervously. “I told you, my seatbelt was really strong, remember?”
“Mom?” Eric’s voice carried a note of concern. He’d always been sensitive to the undercurrents between his father and me, especially when Penny’s memory surfaced.
“It’s nothing, honey,” I said quickly. “Let’s finish packing these books. You’ll need them for your literature class in college.”
But Abraham wasn’t letting it go. “Why do you still have that dress? After all these years, why would you keep something that reminds us of the worst day of our lives?”
“It’s just—” I struggled to find the words that wouldn’t hurt. “It’s a reminder. Of how precious life is.”
Abraham stood abruptly, knocking over an empty box. “A reminder? Our daughter’s death needs a reminder?” his voice rose, filled with 18 years of suppressed pain.
