Of course, when I remembered, it hit me like a freight train.
Alice was the only reason I got out of bed.
She became quieter too.
She stopped sitting in Emma's usual seat at breakfast.
She stopped watching the shows they liked together.
A week after the funeral, the school called.
She slept with her bedroom light on.
I tried talking to her.
Sometimes she answered.
Sometimes she just shrugged.
A week after the funeral, the school called.
They wanted me to collect Emma's belongings.
Finally, Alice came with me.
I couldn't face it, so I waited another few days.
Finally, Alice came with me.
A secretary gave us a box.
There were textbooks, notebooks, a sweatshirt, two pens, and Emma's water bottle.
But no backpack.
"Where's her bag?" I asked.
"We thought you had it."
The secretary frowned.
"We thought you had it."
"No."
She checked with the classroom teacher, the nurse's office, and lost and found.
Nothing.
I didn't have the energy to keep searching.
Alice stood beside me with her arms crossed.
"Maybe it got lost when the ambulance came."
"Maybe."
I didn't have the energy to keep searching.
A missing backpack seemed unimportant compared with everything else.
A month passed.
Most days, everything felt mechanical.
I was still functioning badly.
I went back to work.
I made dinner.
I did laundry when we ran out of clean clothes.
But most days, everything felt mechanical.
Then yesterday morning, I decided to clean the house properly.
Eventually, I reached Alice's room.
I'd walked down the stairs, tripped over a stray sweater, and ended up on the floor.
"This is embarrassing," I whispered to myself.
So, I started downstairs.
Eventually, I reached Alice's room.
She was spending the afternoon with my mom, so I stripped her bed and collected dirty clothes.
