PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

car slowly, holding the lunchbox on his lap like a child holding a school project.

The storage place was fifteen minutes away, near an auto shop and a taco stand my mother used to love.

The unit smelled like cardboard, dust, and lavender soap.

Inside were plastic bins stacked neatly, each labeled in Mom’s handwriting.

Avery school

Christmas

Receipts

Walter

I continue reading …