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Claire?\u201d a woman\u2019s voice asked. \u201cIt\u2019s Isabelle.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire closed her eyes for a second. \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d Isabelle said. \u201cThe ceremony is\u2026paused. I don\u2019t know what happens tomorrow. But tonight, I\u2019m going home.\u201d She hesitated. \u201cIf you ever want the bouquet back, I left it with your papers. It felt like it belonged to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt belonged to the truth,\u201d Claire said, surprised to hear how steady she sounded. \u201cKeep whatever helps you.\u201d<\/p>\n
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\u2014light, like a door open to a garden.<\/p>\n
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. \u201cI\u2019m done burying,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m starting to plant.\u201d<\/p>\n