Ashes of the Northern Pack
he mumbled, before turning and walking away to catch up with Kyle and Rose.
I stood up slowly and picked up the bracelet from the ground, pressing it to my chest and feeling Mom.
I couldn’t cry anymore. I’d moved past grief into numbness. My tears were gone.
The forecast warned of rising temperatures. The dry heat could lead to fires, they said.
That night, I tossed postcard after postcard into the fire, then picked up the old photo albums.
Years of memories—me, Kyle, and Jones. All those smiling faces, captured in frame after frame.
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