For 21 years, I kept my daughter’s room the same. Lavender walls, glow-in-the-dark stars, tiny sneakers by the door. If I opened the closet, I could still catch strawberry shampoo.
Catherine disappeared from her kindergarten playground at four.
My sister called it unhealthy.
“Laura, you can’t freeze time,” she said, standing in the doorway like she was afraid to step inside.