Grandma left me one thing: a folded old map. At first it looked like junk. Then I saw the stars — tiny ones, drawn by hand. One marked the playground where I broke my arm at six. One marked the corner where my bike flipped. Every place I'd ever been hurt had a star. But there was one I'd never been: far out at sea, alone in the blue. What happened to me out there that I didn't remember?

I called my mom and asked about the sea star straight out. The line went quiet. 'Come over,' she finally said, her voice shaking. 'There's something I should have told you a long time ago.' I grabbed the map and drove.