Rachel collected all of Harper's childhood albums, keeping onto those precious pieces of the past with a mixture of nostalgia and tenderness. As she flipped through the pages, one photograph caught her eye—a picture of a two-year-old Harper, her round cheeks adorned with an apple hair, standing next to a car with a frown etched across her little face.
"Looks like you hated the camera even back then," Rachel chuckled, a warm smile spreading across her face as she carefully slipped the photo into her wallet, a keepsake to carry with her always.
Meanwhile, Harper stood in the room, her demeanor resolute and unyielding. She had chosen not to take anything with her except what Rachel deemed important. "Just tell Noah to toss everything else in the trash or sell it at the garage sale. I don't care," she had instructed earlier, her voice steady, yet layered with bitterness.
