my growth flourished. The hardest days for me were the rainy days. I feared more than ever that she would return to me just like she used to. I counted the days that passed by the number of my leaves on the ground; they were always my smallest leaves, no longer having the girl to move them into the sunlight. But as time went on, the drier and sunnier the seasons became, and the fewer leaves fell. I was happiest on breezy days. The wind was what parted my branches, allowing for sunlight to reach every single leaf, even the smallest ones. I knew it was the girl, and I was happy for her. By the time the girl was in her twenties, her old house had still not sold yet. And though I had been alone all this time, I was okay because I knew the girl wasn’t alone. On what had been the sunniest day of the year, a minivan with boxes hanging out of the trunk pulled up to the house. I watched a toddler with little curls, just like ones the girl had, reaching to place the “Sold” sticker across the sign in front of her new house, but she couldn’t reach it. So she signaled to someone with boxes in his arms stacked higher than their head, and when they placed them down for her, a man stood there. He had sweat dripping down his face and was wearing a navy quarter zip that was identical to the one that the girl had all those years ago. The man rolled up his sleeves and lifted the toddler up to the sign as she slapped the sticker on. As he placed her down, she tugged at the man’s arm, and pointed at me with a smile on her face. The man smiled back at her, nodded, and nudged her towards me. She turned her back to me and extended her arm out as if she was waiting for someone to hold her hand. And I watched a woman with curls that rested below her shoulders raise her pointer finger over her mouth and take the toddler’s hand as they began to walk towards me. When they arrived, the woman knelt down, facing the toddler. She then unlinked their fingers and placed her hand on the back of the toddler’s hand and then closed it for her. The woman then shut her eyes and took a deep breath. When she could no longer hold it, she exhaled, lifting one of her fingers for every second of air released. Once she had all five fingers up, she signaled for the toddler to do the same. By the time the toddler mastered it, their breaths were synced and consistent. When they opened their eyes, they chuckled, and a tear formed in the woman’s eye. So the toddler walked up to me, climbed the first of my branches, and reached for the closest leaf she could grab. She then signaled for the woman to pick her up. So the woman walked over, lifted the toddler up, and held her tight. The toddler then brushed the leaf below the woman’s eye, catching her tears before they could fall. And the woman then loosened her grip, walked right up to me, lowered the toddler into the mold between my roots, and walked away. And the toddler stayed in my arms and breathed.
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