Precious Keepsakes

Vic sat at the kitchen counter scribbling another note for Anna. Same ritual every morning, a few lines of encouragement before Anna faced the day. She folded the paper, tucked it into the side pocket of Anna’s backpack, gave her stepdaughter a grin, and watched her dash out the door. Afternoon. Vic couldn’t find her charger. She figured Anna borrowed it again, headed for her stepdaughter’s room. Pulled open the top drawer and stopped cold. Every note she had ever written, lined up in neat little rows. All kept. The front door opened. Anna walked in and froze when she saw what Vic held in her hand. She explained fast—her dad’s death left her with almost nothing to hold onto. She saved every word Vic wrote because the thought of losing her too felt like too much to bear. Vic reached out, pulled Anna in, said she wasn’t going anywhere. The hug lingered. Their faces brushed, lips met. A soft, accidental slip of the tongue that both of them felt. Vic jerked back, eyes wide. “Sorry, I—” Anna’s answer came quiet and sure: she’d liked it, and she wanted more—closer than ever before.