I Thought She Did “Nothing” All Day — Then a Single Box Proved Me Wrong

I sat staring at the photo, thinking about Anna at twenty-two, pregnant while her friends pursued careers. I thought about the nights she paced with colicky babies, the birthday parties she planned, the lunches she packed, the doctor appointments she remembered. I had reduced all of that to one word: just.

Anna came downstairs, stopping at the frame. “You opened it,” she said, tired but not angry.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was wrong.”

“They didn’t forget me,” she murmured.