“Your mother died,” the woman said. Sheena didn’t recognize her. “She wanted you to have these.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said.
After the woman left, Sheena stood behind the counter for the remaining three hours of her shift. She didn’t open the box again. She didn’t cry. She just stood there, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and felt the weight of four syllables pressing down on her chest. sheena ryder lowtru