“No, you don’t understand. He pretended to be angry. He said he’d have to measure me twice because I wouldn’t stand still.”
I could barely get the words out.
Ethan moved closer.
“I remember.”
I shook my head.
“I never thought I’d see this again.”
He put his hand on my shoulder.
“The original marks were too damaged to recover. Some had been covered during earlier renovations. But I had photographs of the doorway from different years, so we worked from those.”
I stared at the lines.
They were replicas.
I knew that.
But the care behind them made my chest ache.
He had taken something that existed only in my memories and worked to give it a place in the real world again.
I pressed my forehead against the doorway.
For years, I had dreamed about that final morning in the old house.
I remembered Dad standing there after the movers had carried away the furniture. He had rested his palm against the frame, staring at the marks.
