I had almost moved on. That is, until the dog found her corpse.

            I lowered my flashlight right away. I didn’t take a good look, so I couldn’t be sure if it was her or not. Though if I was being honest with myself, who else could it be?

            I could’ve taken another look. It’d be so easy. Just lift the flashlight.

            Instead, I found myself regretting every second of the daily midnight strolls through the trees that I’ve taken for the past year. At first it was to scour the frozen woods for any sign of her whereabouts. Even after the searches ended.  The volunteers and police would touch me, my arm or shoulder, reassuringly they thought. They would say things. Meaningless things. I hardly listened. I would nod and they would go home. I would pretend. I would go home, too. But I would be out again in the cold, dark night as soon as all their vehicles were gone. Until my face was numb and my fingers were blue. Just me, my flashlight, and the dog.

            But then, after months of exploring what I thought was every inch of the woods and finding nothing, it just became a routine. How I would wind down before bed. I stopped looking for her, but I’d still be out there. My therapist probably would have scolded me, but I never told him.  I could imagine his short tone and his grey fuzzy eyebrows pulling together. He would’ve said it was dangerous to be out in the woods alone at night, especially in our climate, or that I was holding myself back from healing. He wouldn’t understand. No one would. I wasn’t looking for her anymore.

            Something possessed me to let the dog pull me into the creek tonight. Probably the new medication. The icy water crawled through the soles of my old, worn rubber boots, burning my feet the way that only something immeasurably cold can. We wandered down, further than we should have. There was a large pipe jutting out of the ground over the creek, broken and rusted, icicles hanging from its opening like jagged teeth. I had to yank the dog away from it with the leash.

            She was crammed deep inside.

            I couldn’t tell if the chill I felt was from the stream leaking into my shoes or from the glimpse I caught of frozen flesh.

            My therapist would say I needed the closure. He would tell me it was my responsibility to look again. But if it’s not her… I don’t know if I’d be relieved that there’s still a chance, or disappointed that I’ll never know the mystery behind her disappearance.

            And if it is her?

            Either way, I would break again. All the therapy, the medication, the acceptance, and the healing would have been for nothing. I wasn’t ready for this. Finding something after a year never seemed possible to me. I could pretend again, and just go home. But my therapist’s imaginary words bounced around my skull like flies. It’s my responsibility – I have to look.

            It’d be so easy. Just lift the flashlight.