I almost went in. I almost told her everything.
But I didn’t.
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The cards weren’t for me. They were never for me. They were for her.
Crystal came back two years ago.
Right after Hannah got engaged.
Hannah was twenty-five by then. She’d graduated from college and was working as a physical
therapist at a children’s hospital in Columbus. She’d met a sweet, quiet young man named Owen at a friend’s barbecue. He was an elementary school teacher who played the guitar badly and loved her like she’d hung the moon.
He proposed on a Tuesday night in March, at the same church parking lot where I’d taught her to drive. He’d asked Hannah where the most important place in her life was, and she’d told him about the driving lessons. So he set up lights and a blanket right in the middle of that empty lot, and he
