She remembered seeing a box while packing up her things, and she suddenly remembered. She’d never unpacked the boxes from her art studio, and that’s where a small first-aid kit was. She had too many accidents in the name of art.

The small second bedroom served as storage for Jax. She couldn’t fit all her stuff into her apartment, and she figured it’d be safer to keep it packed. She started sorting through boxes, annoyed by the wad of toilet paper she had around her finger to stop the bleeding. Three boxes and a dozen curse words later, Jax finally found the first-aid kit as well as something she had forgotten all about, a beaten and worn shoebox she hadn’t opened in years.

The kit fell to the floor with a loud clatter. She grabbed the box and took a deep breath before opening it. Nothing in Jax’s life was as organized as this box. Every letter was perfectly folded and filed chronologically. She ran her fingertips over the letters, pulling out the first one in the box, the last letter Gretchen ever wrote her. The date was over four years ago, but Jax clearly remembered reading it for the first time.

Jax,

I know we just spent the day celebrating our pregnancy with everyone we know, but I never want to stop celebrating this next step with you. I think about raising a kid, and it scares me so much, until I picture you with our child. You are extraordinary and when you love someone, you love them BIG. I’ll admit I’m feeling a little selfish and jealous. I’m afraid all that big love will be spent on our little one, and you won’t have any left for me. But then you hold me and touch me, then you look in my eyes. Me and this baby are so lucky to be loved by you, forever.

With so much love,

Gretchen

Jax folded the paper once and then twice. She tucked it back into the envelope and put it right in its place in the shoebox. It had taken her a while, but she was able to see some of the positive, instead of constantly focusing on the failure of their marriage. They had many good years together, more than many people were blessed with. Every memory tucked away in the box was a good one, and there were dozens. An idea hit Jax. She grabbed a handful of letters, beginning to hope that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to play a part in Gretchen’s recovery.

Chapter Four

11 days, 22 hours, 4 minutes

Jax’s patience was starting to wane. A group of overtly judgmental occupational therapists from Gretchen’s office stopped by to visit and treated Jax like a reject, and now Caleb just would not calm down. He was jumping on chairs, trying to climb on a tray table, and running back and forth from window to door and back again. Jax was about to lose it.