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“I slipped in mud.”
“Lily laughed?”
“Then she fell on purpose so I wouldn’t feel dumb.”
“She laughed right after this.”
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I smiled through tears. “That sounds like her.”
***
The following Sunday, I took Nova to Lily’s grave.
“I’m scared I’ll forget her voice,” Nova said.
“Then I’ll tell you stories until neither of us forgets.”
“Can I tell you mine too?”
I nodded.
I’d walked into that gallery thinking someone had stolen my daughter’s face. Instead, I found the girl who had been carrying Lily’s name in silence.