“Every button had a home,” she used to say. “People should too.”
I touched the lid with two fingers.
“Where did you get this?”
“Rose gave it to me the week before she died.”
My throat tightened. “Why?”
Evelyn’s eyes softened. “Because she knew your mother.”
I sat down.
Evelyn opened the tin.
The scent rose first: old paper, lavender, cedar, time.
Inside were envelopes, a few photographs, and two wrapped gifts.
Emma and Noah had wandered into the kitchen without my noticing.
“What is that?” Emma asked.
Evelyn turned to them.
“These are from your great-grandmother Rose.”
Noah frowned. “We had a great-grandmother?”
I swallowed hard.
“You did. She loved you very much.”
“But I don’t remember her.”
“She remembered you,” Evelyn said.
Emma’s eyes moved to the presents. “Are those… for us?”
“Yes.”
Noah looked at me first, asking permission without words.
That nearly hurt more than anything that had happened the night before.
