[CASSIE]
I throw another shirt into the washing machine, watching it tumble over the others with a dull thud. The rhythmic motion is mindless, something to keep my hands busy, to keep my thoughts from settling too deeply into the things I don’t want to think about. The laundry basket beside me is still half-full, a mix of the kids’ clothes and mine, waiting to be sorted. I reach in for another piece, but my fingers brush against something rough—something that doesn’t belong to any of us.
I pull it out, and my breath catches.
The tattered jacket.
My father’s jacket.
It’s faded, worn thin in places, the fabric frayed at the cuffs. The dark material looks even more threadbare under the fluorescent light of the laundry room, revealing how brittle it is, like it’s been left out in the elem
