The next morning arrived with stillness, the kind that comes after a storm, like the house itself was holding its breath, unsure whether to expect more rain or sunlight. Scilla was the first to wake. Her room was bathed in soft gray light, the sky outside blanketed in clouds that hadn't yet decided whether they were done crying. She stretched beneath her blanket, her muscles sore in that strange, quiet way that comes after an emotional weight begins to lift slowly, imperfectly. Downstairs, the house greeted her with familiar sounds: the groan of the old pipes, the hum of the fridge, the whisper of her own footsteps on wood. She didn't bother with coffee this time. Not yet. Something pulled her toward the hallway closet, the one with the stacked boxes no one had touched since the funeral. She stood in front of it for a while, arms folded, eyes scanning the labels. Some were in her mother's handwriting. Others were blank. Just sealed cardboard, silently waiting. By the time Aurelia padded down the stairs, hair still tangled from sleep, Scilla had already pulled several boxes into the living room and spread them out in a loose circle on the rug. Aurelia blinked, still waking. "What's all this?" Scilla glanced up. "Breadcrumbs." Aurelia raised an eyebrow. Scilla gave a soft shrug. "I don't know. I just… I kept thinking about how Mom said to remember the soft things. Thought maybe there are pieces of her in here. Things we missed. Things we forgot to hold onto."
Aurelia stared at the boxes for a moment. Then she nodded. "Okay. Let's see what she left behind." They sat cross-legged on the floor, the fireplace cold behind them this time, but the air between them warmer than it had been in weeks. Scilla opened the first box slowly, like she was afraid to break whatever spell surrounded it. Inside were old recipe cards, yellowed at the corners, some with flour still pressed into the creases. Her mom's handwriting danced across the paper, loopy, rushed, perfectly imperfect. "Her cinnamon rolls," Scilla whispered, holding up one of the cards like it was a holy thing. "You remember how she only made these when it snowed?" Aurelia smiled. "And she'd 'forget' we had school the next day."
Scilla laughed quietly. "We should make them sometime." "We will," Aurelia said, already knowing they would. They kept digging photographs, ticket stubs, dried flowers pressed between notebook pages. A scarf that still smelled faintly of her perfume. A lock of hair, tied with a ribbon. Breadcrumbs, leading them not out of the forest, but deeper into the heart of it. And there, at the bottom of one of the boxes, was a smaller envelope. Cream-colored. Sealed. Aurelia picked it up gently and turned it over. Their mother's handwriting, once again. For when you're ready.
Aurelia held the envelope between her fingers, her thumb brushing over the curve of their mother's handwriting. She didn't look at Scilla, Scilla had already stopped sifting through the box and was watching her sister, eyes wide and quiet. Waiting. Aurelia exhaled slowly, almost afraid the motion would tear the moment apart. She glanced up, finally, and their eyes met. Scilla gave the smallest nod. So Aurelia opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, thick and cream-colored, the ink a soft sepia that looked like it had been written in the late afternoon light. Familiar handwriting again. This time, more deliberate. Measured. Aurelia cleared her throat and began to read aloud, her voice steady, though her fingers trembled just slightly.
My loves,
If you've found this, then you've followed the trail I hoped you would. You were always good at finding things each other most of all.
I've thought a lot about how to write this. About what words I'd want to leave in your hands. But the truth is, there's nothing I could say that would ever be enough not for the love I have for you. Still, I'll try.
You are the best things I ever made. And I don't mean that in the way people say it when they want to be poetic. I mean it in the truest, rawest way I know how. You are my heart, split in two, walking around the world without me now. But even so you are never without my love. That doesn't end.
There will be days when the grief will make you quiet. Let it. There will be days when it will make you angry. Let it. But please, my sweet girls don't let it make you alone.
You were never meant to go through this separately.
You were meant to hold each other, even when it hurts. Especially then.
There are more boxes. More breadcrumbs. If you want to find me, look there. But more than that look in the way you care for each other. In the way you make tea. In the books you love. In the songs you sing under your breath when you think no one's listening.
I'm not in just one place. I'm everywhere.
And I'm so, so proud of you.
With everything,
Mom
By the time Aurelia finished reading, tears were sliding silently down her cheeks. Scilla reached across the space between them and took her hand firm this time. Not afraid.
They sat like that for a long while. Two sisters on the living room floor, hands clasped, a letter between them like a bridge. The boxes still surrounded them. Some unopened. Some already stirring with memory. But something was different now. The trail wasn't over. And they weren't walking it alone. The letter lay open between them, the words still echoing gently in the quiet space they shared. Scilla reached for the next box. Aurelia wiped her eyes and leaned forward to help. They didn't know what they'd find. Memories. Secrets. Pieces of a life they thought they knew. Pieces of their mother breadcrumbs she had left behind in the hopes they'd find their way back not just to her, but to each other. And now, finally, they were ready to follow the trail. Together. They moved slowly at first still half in the emotion of the letter, careful not to tear the moment by rushing. But soon, the rhythm of remembering began to carry them. The next box they opened was filled with journals. Some were small, spiral-bound notebooks with fraying covers. Others were thick, leather-bound, their spines cracked from years of use. Many were filled with sketches, grocery lists, snippets of poems, and daily reflections written in their mother's looping script. Scilla picked one up carefully. It had a faded floral cover and a tiny sticker in the corner that said 1999. She opened to a random page.
March 2nd
Aurelia got into the flour again today. Entire kitchen covered. She swore the bear from the baking powder box told her it was snowing inside. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I laughed. Then I cried. Then I baked cookies with her still covered in flour.
Motherhood is chaos. Beautiful, messy, sacred chaos.
Aurelia smiled, one hand covering her mouth. "I remember that bear," she whispered. "I used to talk to it every morning." Scilla laughed. "You were a weird kid." "You still are," Aurelia said, nudging her shoulder. The next entry was one Scilla read aloud:
June 17th
Scilla asked me today what clouds taste like.
I told her cotton candy, of course.
She didn't believe me, so she licked the air.
I wish I could bottle this age.
I wish I could bottle all of this.
They paused. The silence settled around them again but not with sadness this time. It felt like presence. Like a whisper of their mom still lingering between the pages. They kept going.
One box held old home videos DVDs labeled in marker:
Scilla's 6th Birthday.
Camping Trip '07.
First Day of School (x2!!)
They didn't put one on. Not yet. But just seeing the handwriting, the exclamation points, made their chests ache in a new way a way that was finally starting to feel a little bit like love again, and not just pain. At the bottom of the box, they found a Polaroid camera. Still intact. A few fresh film packs sat beside it in a plastic bag with a note.
For new memories.
Don't forget to live the life I can't finish.
Love, always.
Scilla stared at it for a long time, then picked it up. "You think it still works?" Aurelia reached out and took one of the film packs. "Only one way to find out." Click. The shutter snapped softly, and a new memory began to form one not born of the past, but of this moment. Two sisters. Red-rimmed eyes. Soft smiles. A growing bond. A new breadcrumb, left for the future. The photo developed slowly, colors blooming into shape like dawn seeping through a cloudy sky. They watched it form, shoulder to shoulder, neither speaking. There they were, both of them soft smiles half-formed, eyes still glossy with tears, but something else beneath it all. A brief moment of happiness. Scilla placed the photo gently on top of the journals, her fingers lingering just long enough to let it settle. Aurelia looked around at the boxes that still surrounded them, some open, some waiting. "Think she really meant it?" Aurelia asked quietly. "That we'll find her in all this?" Scilla nodded. "I think… we already are." Outside, the clouds were finally beginning to part, letting the faintest gold spill across the living room floor. The kind of light that doesn't announce itself, but simply arrives. They weren't finished yet. There were still letters to open. Stories to uncover. Rooms they hadn't walked through in years. But they weren't afraid of what came next. Not anymore.
Together, they reached for the next box. And somewhere, just beneath the rustle of old paper and the quiet creak of the house settling around them, it almost felt like a heartbeat. Still here.Still with them.Always.