I stood in the parking lot by my car for a long time. My keys were in my hand, but I couldn’t remember which one was for the ignition. I just kept thinking about that photo in the drawer. What did it look like? Was I smiling in it? Was it from the birthday party when she turned ten, or maybe that school photo where she had her hair in braids? I realized then that I didn’t even know what I looked like to her. To Dana, I wasn’t a mother. I was a ghost.

I got into the car and just sat there. The engine was hot and ticked as it cooled down. I thought about driving to the address I had heard rumors about years ago, but I didn’t know if it was even real anymore. The pride that had fueled me for sixteen years had finally run out of gas. It was just ash now.

I still have the groceries in the backseat. I haven’t touched them. I keep thinking about the way Sarah looked at me. It wasn’t the look of a granddaughter toward a grandmother. It was the look of a witness. She had seen the truth, and she had delivered it to me right there between the milk and the bread.

I know I can’t fix what I broke. I spent sixteen years being right, and look where it got me.

I’m sitting in an empty house, and the only thing I have left is the realization that I lost the one thing that actually mattered for a point I shouldn’t have been trying to make. I’ll probably go back to that store tomorrow. I’ll look for her again. But even if I find her, and even if I find Dana, I know it won’t be like it was before. The damage is done. The silence is permanent. I’m just a woman in a photo now, and that’s all I’ll ever be.