Chapter 13 - What Was Stolen
That evening, we returned to Rachel’s house on the pine ridge to pack Leo’s belongings.
The police tape across the front door was gone, fluttering in the autumn breeze. The living room was quiet, stripped of the tension that had suffocated it for months. In the kitchen, an unfinished mug of tea still sat on the counter beside Rachel’s planner, her neat handwriting marking school field trips, grocery lists, and Leo’s upcoming dental appointment.
Leo walked into his bedroom, his sneakers squeaking softly on the floorboards.
He didn't run to his video games or his action figures. He walked straight to his small wooden desk by the window, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a small, blue sketchbook.
"Aunt Sarah," he said, holding the book out to me.
I sat on the edge of his bed and opened the cover.
Inside were dozens of colored pencil drawings Rachel had made for him. Maps of mythical kingdoms, cartoon animals, and on the very last page, a drawing of a small wooden cottage nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains with a massive flower garden out front.
Beneath the drawing, Rachel had written:
For Leo and Sarah. Our safe place. When the storm passes, build this for me.
I traced the colored lines with my thumb, feeling the sharp, clean ache of grief that comes only when fear is finally gone.
May you like
"Can we build it, Aunt Sarah?" Leo asked softly, leaning against my arm.
"Every single brick, buddy," I whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Every single brick."
