A faded pink backpack hung beside the closet.
Even the calendar on the wall remained open to July.
Ten years earlier.
I stepped inside carefully.
Nothing had been packed away.
Nothing had changed.
It wasn't a storage room.
It wasn't forgotten.
It had simply... waited.
I turned toward Derrick.
"Whose room was this?"
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"My sister's."
"Daniella."
I looked around again.
The room suddenly felt impossibly small.
"You told me you had a sister."
"I know."
"You never told me about this."
He nodded.
"I've never said it out loud."
I reached for his hand.
He didn't take it.
"Daniella was 11."
"I was 15."
He walked over to the windowsill and picked up one of the little horse figurines.
"She loved these."
"She collected them everywhere we went."
He smiled faintly.
"If there was a gift shop, she'd find another one."
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