I nodded, unable to say anything more.

“I know that you were looking for this, right?”

My eyes locked on the familiar Spider-Man fabric.

“What do you mean by that?”

She hugged it even tighter.

“Randy told me to hold onto it; he was my best friend.”

“What is your name, darling?”

“Sarah.”

I asked her softly to come in, and she took a moment but finally came into the kitchen with the bag, as if it were something precious that she carried.

“I haven’t stolen it,” she said hastily.

“I believe you.”

“I was protecting it.”

It felt like my heart was being shattered by those words.

Sarah put the bag on the kitchen table with both hands.

“Open it,” she said.

My fingers shook as I slowly unzipped it.

Inside were balls of lavender and white yarn, knitting needles, and folds of tissue paper enclosing something soft.

I delicately removed the object from inside.

It was a handmade unicorn.

At least that’s what it was intended to be; one leg was still missing, its body had a strange tilt, and the horn appeared lopsided.

“It was Randy’s gift for you,” said Sarah hastily. “From craft class.”

I stared at the awkward-looking unicorn in shock.

“Why would he make a unicorn?” I whispered. “Randy adored dinosaurs.”

Sarah dabbed her nose with her sleeve.

“He said that you liked them,” she answered.

The pain in my chest came immediately.

Several months ago, I had made a joke about loving unicorns and sipping coffee from an ancient unicorn cup.

That he had remembered such a thing stunned me.

Underneath the yarn was a folded Mother’s Day card written in my son’s messy handwriting.

Mom,

It’s not done yet. Don’t laugh.

Sarah says the horn is the hardest part.

I love you more than cereal breakfasts.

Love, Randy.

A noise slipped out from me before I could suppress it.

Sarah began crying as well.

Then, in a hushed voice, she said, “There’s something else.”

At the very bottom of the bag lay another piece of paper, wadded up tightly as if someone had been trying to conceal it.

I unfolded it slowly.

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I ruined the Mother’s Day wall.

I know you’re tired of problems.

But I promise I’m not bad.

Love, Randy.

I stared at the note in confusion.

“What is this?”

Sarah looked down at her shoes.

“Ms. Bell made him write it.”

A cold feeling spread through my chest.

“When?”

“Before he fell.”

There was suddenly an awkward silence in the kitchen.

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