Michael and I whispered her name—Eliza—like a fragile secret we carried together. But time didn’t heal us. It changed us.
Eventually, Michael left. Maybe he couldn’t bear my grief. Or maybe he couldn’t face his own.
And so it became just me and Junie… and the quiet shadow of the daughter I never got to know.
Junie’s first day of first grade felt like a new beginning.
She walked up the sidewalk with confidence, her pigtails bouncing, while I stood there hoping she’d make friends.
I spent the day cleaning—anything to keep my nerves in check.
“Relax, Phoebe,” I muttered to myself. “June-bug will be fine.”
That afternoon, the front door burst open before I could even put the sponge down.
Junie ran in, flushed and breathless, her backpack half unzipped.
“Mom! Tomorrow you have to pack one more lunchbox!”
