When I pulled off one pillowcase, it slipped from my hand.
That's when I noticed something under her bed.
I bent to pick it up.
That's when I noticed something under her bed.
Black fabric.
I crouched down.
At first, I thought it was one of her school bags.
Then I grabbed the strap.
Her name was still written in silver marker on the front pocket.
My hands froze.
It was Emma's backpack.
I knew immediately.
Her name was still written in silver marker on the front pocket.
I sat on the floor holding it.
Why was it in Alice's room?
Inside was a zippered pouch stuffed with folded pieces of paper.
Why had she told me it was lost?
For several minutes, I just stared.
Then I opened it.
Inside was a zippered pouch stuffed with folded pieces of paper.
Dozens.
Some were lined notebook paper.
And on top were some of the angriest words I'd ever read from my daughter.
Why did you have to do that to me? Look how you've made me feel!
One was written on the back of a grocery receipt.
I couldn't believe the resentment.
The only thing that escaped my mouth were, "OH GOD, NO! This can't be happening! Alice, WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN?!"
For a second, I could only stare. I didn't even want to touch the notes.
But eventually, my grief and curiosity overcame me, and I dug deeper.
Deeper into the bundle of what I could only imagine as hidden vitriol between my kids.
Every single one started the same way.
Some of the notes were written on sticky notes.
One was written on the back of a grocery receipt.
Every single one had the same note on the front.
To Alice. Or, To Emma.
