Andrew frowned.
“None.”
Dr. Ramirez looked at him.
“Think.”
Caroline answered first.
“To keep Hannah alive.”
Andrew turned.
Caroline continued.
“Everyone watches what Sophie remembers.”
“Margaret asks if she remembers recipes.”
“Andrew repeats stories.”
“People tell her she looks like Hannah.”
“If Sophie forgets something, someone supplies it.”
Dr. Ramirez nodded.
“What else?”
Andrew swallowed.
“To prove moving forward isn't forgetting.”
Caroline looked toward him.
He continued.
“If Sophie likes Caroline, I feel relieved.”
“If she misses Hannah, I feel guilty.”
“I make her emotions evidence about whether I’m doing this right.”
Dr. Ramirez nodded.
“Exactly.”
Sophie was coloring across the room.
Not listening, they hoped.
Children always listened.
Dr. Ramirez said:
“She is seven.”
“Her job is to be seven.”
That sentence became another family rule.
Months passed.
The locket did not disappear from Sophie’s life.
It became less explosive.
She wore it some days.
Forgot it others.
Once she left it in a school cubby overnight.
Andrew nearly drove back after hours.
Caroline stopped him.
“Remember the video.”
He stared.
“What?”
“If it gets lost, she doesn't lose Hannah.”
Andrew hated when his dead wife and current wife accidentally agreed.
He stayed home.
The necklace was still there the next morning.
Sophie barely seemed concerned.
That was progress.
Margaret apologized to Caroline separately.
Not immediately.
Three months later.
At a coffee shop.
“I have treated you like someone renting space in Hannah’s life.”
Caroline stared.
“That is specific.”
“Therapy.”
“You're going?”
“No.”
Margaret smiled.
“Andrew repeats things.”
Caroline laughed.
Then Margaret became serious.
“I thought if Sophie loved you too much, Hannah would become less important.”
Caroline looked down.
Margaret continued.
“That is not rational.”
“No.”
“It also wasn't your problem to solve.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Caroline nodded.
“Thank you.”
Margaret waited.
Caroline did not say I forgive you.
Not yet.
Instead she said:
“I need one thing.”
“What?”
“Stop using ‘Hannah would have wanted’ unless Hannah actually said it.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
Caroline continued.
“You say it about school.”
“Hair.”
“Holidays.”
“Summer camp.”
“Sometimes I think you know.”
“Sometimes I think you're guessing.”
Margaret looked ashamed.
“I do that.”
“Yes.”
“Why does it bother you?”
“Because dead people win every argument.”
Margaret almost laughed.
Then cried.
“My daughter did have opinions.”
“I know.”
“Strong ones.”
“I know.”
“Some were terrible.”
Caroline smiled.
“Good.”
Margaret looked surprised.
“What?”
“I need her to have terrible opinions too.”
That changed something.
After that, Margaret told different stories.
Hannah once returned a perfectly good sofa because she decided the beige looked “emotionally dishonest.”
Hannah failed her driver’s test twice.
Hannah forgot Andrew’s birthday the first year they dated.
Hannah hated camping despite every family photo suggesting otherwise.
Sophie loved these stories more than the saint stories.
So did Caroline.
Hannah became human.
Dead.
Loved.
Human.
At eight, Sophie stopped wearing the locket every day.