Maybe Ana still has it.
Maybe she outgrew it too.
Maybe it sits in a closet somewhere with rocks in the pocket.
Maybe it found another child.
I like to imagine that.
A little worn.
A little faded.
A little ugly, if you ask Martina’s mother.
Still warm.
Still moving forward.
Still refusing to go backward.
Because gifts don’t go backward.
Not real ones.
They keep traveling.
And sometimes, if we are lucky, they teach the adults how to follow.
