Chapter 8 - The Blanket, Passed Down
Two weeks later we went together — Mom, Naomi, me, and Coleman. The twins stayed with Coleman's mother, because Naomi wanted the first visit to be quiet. Everett's grave sat in the same cemetery as Dad's. I'd walked past it before without knowing. That hurt more than I expected.
The stone read: EVERETT W., BELOVED SON AND BROTHER. Four months. That was the entire life between the two dates.
Naomi stood there a long time. Then she said, "Hi. I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner."
A month later we finally had the family dinner. No rule list this time. Trent washed his hands without being asked. My aunt left her phone in her purse. Nobody kissed the babies. Nobody asked about Milo's bracelet. And nobody brought up the blue blanket at all.
Three months after that, Naomi asked Mom for it. Mom brought the wooden box to her house. Naomi opened it. The blanket looked even smaller now, beside two growing babies. She spread it across her lap, and Coleman handed her Milo. I handed her his sister, Grace.
Naomi held both babies against her and traced the embroidered initials with one finger. N.W. E.W. Milo grabbed at the edge of it.
Naomi smiled, then looked down at both of them.
"You had an uncle named Everett," she said. "He was my twin brother." Her voice shook, but she kept going. "He was only here for four months. But he was here."
No secret stays buried forever just because the person who buried it had a reason. Mom thought silence would protect Naomi. Naomi thought rules would protect her babies. Maybe fear just makes people confuse control with safety.
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We're trying something different now. Milo is doing well. Naomi still worries. Mom still carries the guilt. None of us pretend Everett's story has a happy ending.
But his name isn't hidden in an attic anymore. And that blanket isn't something everyone's afraid to touch.
