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I folded the sweater carefully and placed it in a drawer.
Not hidden away.
Not displayed as a monument to the past.
Simply kept somewhere safe.
Then I returned to the table and sat beside Sophie.
She was drawing a field of flowers.
In the middle was a large yellow sunflower.
One petal was brown.
I smiled.
“That’s beautiful.”
Sophie looked at her drawing.
“I made that one different.”
“I know.”
She grinned.
“Do you like it?”
I kissed the top of her head.
“I love it.”
For forty years, I had thought the brown petal was a mistake.
Now I saw it differently.
It was the tiny imperfection that helped me find the truth.
Some family stories cannot be rewritten.
Some choices cannot be undone.
But the future doesn’t have to repeat the past.
If Laura ever comes to my door, I will open it.
I will hear her story.
And I will tell her mine.