Away From Home
Later, an elegant white envelope arrived at my apartment mailbox. Lily's wedding invitation. Beside her name, printed beneath "Bride," was a stranger's name. Mom had sent it. Sitting on my sofa, I studied Lily's name for a long time. The little girl who once stumbled over "remote control" was getting married. Time had flown. The old pink bunny felt distant, yet painfully recent. The invitation felt heavy.
The Wedding Invitation
I arrived home the night before the wedding. Festive decorations filled the house; bustling with relatives and helpers. Lily wore sweats, face radiant with busy happiness, chatting with Mom and cousins. She saw me enter; her smile faltered for a split second. She nodded, her voice polite and distant: "Jack, you're back." Then she swiftly turned back to the others. The warmth froze as soon as I approached.
The Night Before
Later, the house quieter, Lily packed in her temporary room, door slightly ajar. I stood in the dim hallway hallway, palms sweating. I clutched a small pink bunny—a relic I'd hunted down near campus. Old-fashioned, floppy ears, simple black button eyes, slightly awkward, reminiscent of the lost one. Taking a deep breath, I knocked.
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