He takes a step backwards. “Okay, I’ll wait outside. Want me to take that box down to the recycling for you?”

“Sure, thanks.” I hand it to him.

He takes it and turns to go. “Hey, is that a new picture of Jonah?” He peers over at the frame on my dresser, propped next to my vanity set. Other framed photos fill the space: one of Cammie, Syd, Erin, and me at graduation, one of just me and Cammie, one of my parents, one of me and Jonah with my parents from when we were little. All reminders of the safe haven that has been my life.

“Yes — isn’t it great?” I step over to look at the photo with Miles. It’s Jonah in the resource center at LLV, a tambourine in his hands. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling, and it reminds me that he’s okay, even though he misses us. And knowing he’s okay . . . it’s everything. “My friends and I did an instrument drive for Little Lambs Village, and the music director sent this picture from a summer concert the residents put on.”

“Aw. He looks happy,” Miles says.

I nod, my heart tugging in all directions. “Yeah.” When I glance up at him, he’s smiling at me. My heart tugs in his direction, too.

He holds up the empty box. “Okay. I’ll take this down and then I’ll wait out there.”

“Thanks,” I say, closing the door behind him. When he’s gone, I hold the mirror up to my face one last time, then set it on the vanity tray where it belongs.

With the fulfillment of the third and final quest, it strikes me that Starworld is a complete story now: it has had a beginning, a middle, and an end.

But when I turn Sam’s card over, a line catches my eye: *leaves door open*

When it dawns on me what she means, I race to the door. “Miles! Come back! I need the address on the box.”

When I hear him pounding back up the stairs, box in hand, I grab my phone and open my contacts list.

Because an open door is not an end.

It’s a detour waiting to be taken.

Resources

As with all narratives, Sam’s and Zoe’s stories are individual and are in no way meant to represent all experiences with mental illness, pregnancy loss, disability, or adoption. Sam’s experience living with her mother is only one dynamic that could exist between a parent with OCD and their child. Zoe’s feelings about being a safe haven adoptee and having a disabled family member are only one form such a story might take. To help acknowledge the variety of experiences that might exist around these issues, we’ve compiled some resources below and encourage our readers to learn more.

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)