As I sat cross-legged on the soft carpet of my mother’s bedroom, the room felt heavy with her presence. Her lavender-scented sweater lay draped across my lap, its familiar fragrance a bittersweet comfort. The laughter that bubbled through my tears caught me off guard as my eyes fell on her patched-up sweatpants—an emblem of her unrelenting practicality.
Neil appeared quietly in the doorway, his careful steps as though not to disturb the fragile stillness. “Laura, love,” he whispered, kneeling beside me, his hand a reassuring weight on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I know,” I replied, dabbing at my tears. “It’s just… everything here reminds me of her. Even these sweatpants. She could have replaced them a hundred times, but she never let go of them.”
Neil smiled, examining the countless patches. “They’re like a badge of honor,” he mused. “But your mom had money—why hold on to these?” Read more below
