I took it to Alder Lake the next weekend. Megan came with me. The cabin smelled of pine and old books, exactly as my grandmother had left it. We sat on the dock with a thermos of cocoa while the sun sank behind the trees.

I lit a small fire in the iron pit.

I looked at the apron.

Then I folded it carefully and put it on the flames.

It burned slowly, then all at once, a bright curl of white turning gold.

Megan leaned her head on my shoulder. “How do you feel?”

I watched the smoke rise into the darkening sky.

“Like someone who finally got to say no,” I said, “and had everyone listen.”

THE END

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