front of him.
“I know life did not go the way any of you wanted,” she said. “But I wanted you to know that I was real. I existed. And whatever love you and June had for me, it mattered. I carried it.”
Mr. Walter cried so hard he could barely breathe.
He looked at the rabbit again, then up at Hannah’s face, as though he were trying to match years of grief to the living person standing right in front of him.
Finally, he said, “June picked this out.”
