“I can’t believe I actually did it.”
I smiled.
“You did.”
He touched the pocket where he had hidden the bracelet.
“I almost didn’t.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Because I was scared.”
I took his hand.
“Of what?”
He looked toward the dark parking lot.
“Of everyone.”
I squeezed his fingers.
“But you walked anyway.”
He nodded.
“Because you taught me how.”
We stood there quietly.
Then Ethan pulled the bracelet from my hand and placed it back into the tissue paper.
“Keep it,” he said.
“I thought you wanted it.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
He smiled.
“You kept it for eighteen years.”
He placed it gently in my palm.
“Now I know why.”
I closed my fingers around it.
And that tiny hospital bracelet suddenly felt heavier than anything I had ever held.
Not because of what it was.
Because of what it represented.
