I gave the photograph to Vanessa.
She keeps it in her new kitchen.
I used to think her obsession with Mom’s freezer was ridiculous.
Twenty years old. Scratched. Worth almost nothing.
But Vanessa had never cared about the appliance.
She cared about what Mom had hidden under it: money she’d saved, documents she’d need, proof she wasn’t imagining what was happening, and a way to leave when she was ready.
My brother thought Mom’s freezer was full of old meat and vegetables.
For two years, it had been holding something much more important.
My sister-in-law’s exit.
