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Lucifer sits in the diner. A woman sits across from him, her once dark hair peppered with gray, laugh lines edged around her eyes and her mouth. He wonders if this was how her mother looked at the same age.
How did he miscalculate time so terribly?
There is a box on the table between them. It’s full of paper. Letters, folded notes, a lot of colorful post-its are scrambled in the mix.
Beatrice pushes the box his way with the tips of her fingers. "Mom made me promise to save this. She told me, if you ever made it back, to give it to you."
"What is it?" His fingers trembled as he plucked a faded pink post-it from the bundle. His eyes blurred before he could read further than the date, December 20th, 2024 written in the Detective’s messy cursive.
“Everything. All the things you missed. All the things she wished she could have told you. I know she would have preferred to read them with you, but," Trixie sighs. "At least it's something, right?"