Chapter 3

I held the butterfly clip with Mom's hair still tangled in it, and suddenly all the memories came rushing back. March 2012, the last three days before Mom died.

"Emma, look here! Smile!"

Mom held that silver digital camera, wearing the blue dress Dad had given her for her birthday. She had a butterfly clip just like this one pinned to her collar. Her eyes were so bright, but now I can see there was something desperate about them too.

She couldn't stop taking pictures. When I got ice cream on my face, click. When I laughed on the carousel, click. She even took a photo when I bent down to pick up a candy wrapper.

"Mom, why are you taking so many pictures?" I tilted my head, confused.

Mom put down the camera and knelt to stroke my hair. "Because you look so pretty today. I want to remember everything."

Her voice sounded scratchy, but her smile was so warm. I thought she was just happy. Now I know she was trying to hold onto every second we had left.

Walking home as the sun set, I clutched a lollipop from the amusement park, the strawberry sweetness melting on my tongue. Mom was quiet until she suddenly stopped and knelt in front of me.

Her hands shook a little as she stared into my eyes. "Emma, if Mommy can't play with you anymore someday, you won't forget me, will you?"

It was such a weird question. I nodded hard, the lollipop still in my mouth. "Of course not! You're the best mommy ever!"

"Really?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Really! I'll never forget you!"

She smiled, but when she turned away, I saw her wipe her eyes. I thought it was just the wind making them water.

That night, I got up to use the bathroom and saw a light in the living room. I tiptoed over and found Mom sitting on the couch, holding one of Dad's white shirts. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Nathan..." she whispered to the empty room, so quiet I could barely hear. "I just need you to look at me one more time... tell me you remember..."

I froze behind the door. Mom buried her face in Dad's shirt, looking so small and broken. Then she saw me.

"Emma? What are you doing up?" She quickly wiped her tears and tried to smile.

"Were you crying, Mom?" I walked over to hug her.

"No, sweetie, I was just watching a sad movie." She picked me up. "Let's get you back to bed. Tomorrow we'll go to the beach, okay?"

I could smell her perfume mixed with something sad I couldn't name.

She kept her promise. The next day—Mom's last day—she really did take me to the beach. The breeze was gentle, sunlight warming the golden sand. She had me take off my shoes and make footprints.

"Put your foot right here, don't move." She drew a heart around my tiny footprint with her finger, then wrote "Grace & Emma" inside it.

"When you're grown up and see this, you'll know Mommy's always with you."

Her smile was brighter than the sun. The waves lapped at our feet as Mom held my hand and we looked out at the ocean.

"Will we come back here again, Mom?"

"Yes, Emma. I'll always be with you."

Looking back, she didn't lie. She is always with me, just differently now.

That night, Mom read me a bedtime story—my favorite, "Little Red Riding Hood." Her voice was soft as a whisper. Halfway through, she suddenly stopped and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.

"Emma, I'm so sorry..." Her voice broke. "You're so little, and you're going to have to..."

The rest got lost in her crying. Her tears fell on my face, cool and wet. Her hair tickled my cheek, smelling like her usual shampoo.

"Why are you crying, Mom?" I reached up to wipe her tears.

"I'm not crying, sweetie. I just love you so much." She kissed my forehead. "Go to sleep now, my little princess."

She stayed with me until very late, until I was completely asleep. I didn't know it would be the last story, the last goodnight kiss.

In the middle of the night, a phone woke me up. I opened my eyes and saw Mom sitting on the bed's edge, holding her buzzing phone. When she saw the name on the screen, her whole body started shaking: "Nathan."

She took a shaky breath and answered: "Nathan, it's me... I wanted to—"

A cold woman's voice cut her off: "Nathan's busy. Stop calling."

Then the dial tone.

The phone slipped from Mom's hand and crashed to the floor.

Mom just sat there, like all the life had drained out of her. Finally, she whispered, "He couldn't even let me finish..."

She shoved the broken phone under her pillow, not knowing I was awake. Moonlight came through the curtains, and I could see the look in her eyes—like she'd given up completely.

That voice belonged to Victoria. She was the one who cut Mom off when Mom needed Dad most.

After that night, Mom never woke up again.

Holding this butterfly clip, I was back in those days. Mom used her last bit of strength to give me beautiful memories, and it was taken me eighteen years to realize those ordinary moments were actually her way of saying goodbye.

I thought in her final moments, Mom was still waiting for Dad to call back, waiting for a call that never came.