What She Left Behind

The funeral was already over when Elena found herself standing outside Sarah's apartment building, keys jingling in her hand. They hadn't spoken in three years—not since the night Sarah had shown up at Elena's door, eyes wild, hair matted with sweat, demanding to know why Elena had slept with her husband.

Now Sarah was gone. An overdose, the obituary said. Probably accidental.

Inside the apartment, dust motes floated in afternoon light. Sarah's dog, a ancient golden retriever named Buster, lifted his head from where he lay curled on a faded armchair. His tail thumped weakly against the cushion.

"Hey buddy," Elena whispered, approaching slowly. She'd always loved this dog, even after everything fell apart. Buster had been her first baby, before the miscarriage that sent Sarah spiraling into darkness.

On the bedside table sat a photograph Elena had never seen: the two of them, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing at some long-forgotten joke. Sarah wore that ridiculous purple hat she'd refused to take off during Elena's wedding reception, the one everyone had hated. Elena's hair was still dark then, before the silver began threading through it like morning fog.

Her hair had been white as milk by the time she stopped speaking to Sarah.

Elena picked up the photograph. On the back, in Sarah's jagged handwriting: my oldest friend, my sister, my heart. I'm sorry I couldn't be brave enough to say it when it mattered.

Tears pricked Elena's eyes. She'd come here planning to steal the jewelry, maybe something valuable. Sarah had owed her nothing—Elena was the one who'd crossed the line, who'd betrayed her best friend because she was lonely and drunk and Sarah's husband had been kind and available and pathetic in a way that made her feel needed.

Buster limped over and rested his head against her leg. Elena dropped to her knees and buried her face in his soft fur, breathing in the familiar scent of dog and Sarah's vanilla detergent.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty room, to the ghost of the friend who'd never forgive her. "I'm so sorry."

She left the photograph on the table. She left the jewelry in the drawer. She took Buster home instead, because someone had to love him now, and maybe, in caring for what Sarah had loved, Elena could finally learn to forgive herself.