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It's silent.

There's nothing but the sound of pages turning. Her fourth grade reading log, her middle school art portfolio, a detention slip that was never signed from 10th grade.

But in my mind, there's a freight train driving off course.

Clouded thoughts drift in and out, forcefully plunging my body out of denial, and into acceptance. My fingers are stiff and they shake.

My thoughts are stuck on loop, repeating the overwhelmingly painful cry over, and over, and over.

"I miss you. Come back."

From JadeWhere stories live. Discover now