Skip to content 
Matthew knelt beside it.
For several long seconds, he simply rested his hand on the lid.
When he finally opened it, I forgot how to breathe.
Matthew knelt beside it.
Inside weren’t photographs.
Or keepsakes.
There were journals.
Dozens of them.
Every notebook carefully dated.
Every year of our lives.
From sophomore year of high school… until now.
“What is this?”
“My mistake,” he answered softly.
“What is this?”
He handed me the oldest journal.
I opened the first page.
September 14
Ashley raised her hand in biology today.
Only once.
She almost apologized afterward.
The next page.
October 2
She ordered lunch without asking me what she should get.
He handed me the oldest journal.
Another.
November 18
Ashley disagreed with our history teacher.
She looked terrified.
I’m proud of her.
I turned pages faster.
They weren’t accomplishments.
Confidence.
Every tiny moment I’d stood a little straighter.
Every time I trusted my own voice.