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“Yes.”

“Why?”

I lean against the counter.

For some reason, this is harder to explain than Greg.

Harder than the warehouse.

Harder than running.

Because those things hurt.

This is love.

And sometimes love hurts worse when it's gone.

“Addy worried I wouldn't remember.”

“Remember what?” Will asks.

“Her.”

The kitchen becomes very quiet.

“She knew she wasn't always okay. She knew Mae worried about her. Sometimes Addy would disappear into her room for two or three days.”

I look toward the oven.

“She was afraid she'd die before I was old enough to remember how much she loved me.”

Arthur's face changes.

“So she wrote it down.”

I nod.

“She wrote everything down.”

I smile through the ache in my throat.

“Stupid things too.”

“Like what?” Taylor asks.

“The first time I threw up on her.”

Arthur grimaces.

“That's a treasured memory?”

“Apparently.”

“What did the letter say?”

I remember it almost word for word.

“She said I ate too much birthday cake when I was four and threw up all over her favorite sweater. Then I cried because I thought she'd be mad. Addy wrote that she held me while I threw up on her a second time because that's what love looks like when you're four.”