The drawstrings curl.
The cotton crumples.
The logo melts.
Every moment we ever had goes with it.
The night at the cliffs.
The bonfire.
Our first kiss.
The last.
His voice saying he’d protect me.
His hand reaching for me when it was already too late.
All of it burns.
Aunt Susan quietly disappears inside, then returns with a second garbage bag.
Hair.
My hair.
The pieces from the bathroom floor.
The ones Shani didn’t get to.
“Are you sure about this part?” Aunt Susan asks softly.
I don’t answer.
I dump the whole bag into the fire.
The strands catch like paper, turning to ash in seconds. The smoke curls upward, gray twisting into white, drifting into the cold sky.
Something in my chest cracks open.
I don’t mean to say it, but the words slip out anyway.
“I’m only seventeen. How am I supposed to deal with this shit?”
Both women turn sharply toward me.
Aunt Susan looks gutted.
“Oh, honey…” she murmurs. “I?—”
She steps closer. Her hand finds my back, rubbing slow circles.
“You’re right,” she says. “This is too much for seventeen. Even twenty-seven. Even forty-seven. And I know today feels like the world is ending.”
Her voice wobbles for the first time.
“But this…” She gestures at the burning heap. “This is cathartic. It’s a start. But it’s not enough. You need more than us for this. You need someone you can talk to without carrying our feelings too. I think you need a therapist, Jade. A real one. Someone trained for this. I can make some calls.”
