The trip had taken months of planning.
I spoke with my counselor.
I arranged time off work.
I contacted Margaret to ask whether we could visit the small garden where Sophie used to play.
She agreed immediately.
When I arrived, spring flowers were blooming around the estate.
The house looked almost exactly the same.
But I wasn’t the same woman who had left it.
Margaret met me at the front entrance.
The moment she saw me, she began crying.
“Oh, Lauren.”
We embraced.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then she stepped aside.
“Come in.”
I walked through the hallway.
Past the marble staircase.
Past the family photographs.
Past the room where Sophie used to scatter her toys across the carpet.
Every step brought back memories.
Some beautiful.
Some unbearable.
Margaret led me into the garden.
There, beneath a flowering tree, stood a small stone bench.
A butterfly had been carved into its side.
