#46

it was there when she got home from work. the wind blew her skirt around her legs, playing with escaped pieces of hair. she didn't notice how bright the moon was already, already visible above the sunset. looking down, as she always did nowadays, she put her key in the mailbox. the gray door swung open and she reached in for the usual bills, junk mail, the occasional "10% off your next purchase over 50 dollars" offer. something was different this time. she looked down, intrigued.
scrawled handwriting that she hadn't seen for years. the return address printed more clearly than hers.
dropping everything from her hands, her purse scattering its contents on the concrete, she tore open the letter. it was a picture. it was bent. "please forgive me. i miss you." written on the back. she turned it over.
the moment was vivid in her mind. her 12th birthday. his skinny arms around her shoulders, protectively, the way every parent hopes a big brother will be. she was beaming, safe and happy. only two years later was when...

clutching the picture to her chest, tears dripped to her cheeks, her chin, fell on her sweater. had it been 15 years? more since the trial started. she couldn't visit him there; it was easier to forget, to leave.
looking at the photograph, she knew those children would never be so innocent again. but she would go home now. she would take back a scrap of what it felt like to be a child.