"Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear."
After reading it a final time, Benedick tucked the page of his mother's journal back under his mattress. He had studied the page countless times since he stole it from the journal his mother left lying open the night she died. Every year, he spent hours on the anniversary of her death staring at the paper, begging it to tell him more. He hoped time would reveal something his younger self hadn't seen, some hint as to what really happened to his mother.
