Claire?” a woman’s voice asked. “It’s Isabelle.”

Claire closed her eyes for a second. “Hi.”

“Thank you,” Isabelle said. “The ceremony is…paused. I don’t know what happens tomorrow. But tonight, I’m going home.” She hesitated. “If you ever want the bouquet back, I left it with your papers. It felt like it belonged to you.”

“It belonged to the truth,” Claire said, surprised to hear how steady she sounded. “Keep whatever helps you.”

After they hung up, Claire watched three children racing along the sidewalk with paper crowns, laughing so hard their voices hopped like pebbles. She realized, with a sense of wonder, that her chest felt light. Not empty—light, like a door open to a garden.

On her way home she stopped at the hardware store again and bought a trowel. The clerk raised an eyebrow at the second digging tool in a day, and Claire smiled. “I’m done burying,” she said. “I’m starting to plant.”