“Jake,” Daniel said. “The love of her life.”
The air shifted.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t argue.
He simply said, “You called Liam’s memories trash. Should I treat yours the same way?”
Then, calmly, firmly: “Go get every single bunny back.”
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then he turned slightly toward the dumpster with the box in his hands.
That was enough.
She ran.
No pride. No hesitation.
She climbed into that dumpster and pulled out every box, every bunny—wet, crushed, misshapen. She didn’t stop until every single one was recovered.
Inside, she laid them out carefully.
And she worked.
For hours.
Cleaning, reshaping, drying, restoring what she could.
No one told her to keep going.
She just did.
That night, Daniel returned the wooden box to her.
“I’m not throwing this away,” he said. “But this was the last time I stayed quiet.”
Something changed in the house after that.
The next day, Claire called us into the living room. She stood there for a long moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Liam.
“I thought… if I pushed hard enough, maybe you’d let go of your mom. Maybe there’d be space for me.”
She swallowed.
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