The day had begun like any other day. The sun came through the kitchen window, making bright squares on the floor. Someone had left a glass beside the sink. A fly bumped lazily against the screen door. Nothing looked different. Nothing warned her that by evening, someone she loved would be gone.

There were so many ordinary things Ginger thought would happen again. She thought there would be another afternoon sitting together on the porch steps, another time she would hear her name called from the other room, another silly joke that made her laugh even when she tried not to. She thought there would be another hand reaching for hers when they crossed the street and another voice telling her to slow down because she was always running ahead. Ginger never tried very hard to remember those things because she thought there would always be more of them.

Ginger had always thought goodbyes came with plenty of warning. People packed suitcases. They made plans. They hugged you at the door and told you when they would be back. Maybe they cried a little. Maybe they waved from a car until it disappeared around the corner. This goodbye wasn’t like that.

By the time Ginger understood what was happening, everything seemed to be moving too quickly. Grown-ups were talking in low voices, using words she didn’t understand. Someone said it was for the best. Someone else said there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Ginger hated those words. There had to be something someone could do.

She stood nearby, waiting for one of the grown-ups to notice her and explain everything properly. No one did. They were busy with their own sadness, their own worries, their own things that had to be done. “Wait,” Ginger finally said. Nobody seemed to hear her. “Wait!” This time they did. But waiting wouldn’t change anything.

Ginger wanted one more day. She wanted one more ordinary morning when she didn’t know a goodbye was coming. She wanted to go backward to breakfast and begin again. If she had known, she would have paid attention to everything. She would have remembered every sound and every word. She wouldn’t have wandered off or become distracted or thought there would always be tomorrow.

But there wasn’t going to be tomorrow. Not the same tomorrow.

When the moment finally came, Ginger wrapped her arms tightly around the one she loved. She held on longer than she was supposed to. Someone touched her shoulder gently, telling her it was time. “No.” She held tighter. “Ginger.” “No.” She buried her face and squeezed her eyes shut. If she didn’t let go, maybe nobody could leave. It seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to believe when you were six.

But grown-ups were stronger than six-year-old girls, and eventually Ginger’s arms were empty. She watched the leaving happen. She didn’t wave. She didn’t say goodbye. She stood perfectly still until there was nothing left to see.

Later, someone told her she would feel better soon. She didn’t.

At supper, Ginger pushed her food around her plate. At bedtime, she climbed beneath the covers without asking for a story. The house sounded wrong. Every little noise made her listen. Once, she thought she heard footsteps and sat up quickly. “Hello?” Nothing answered. Ginger lay back down.

She pulled the blanket beneath her chin and stared into the darkness. She tried to remember the last thing she had said before everything changed, but she couldn’t. Maybe it had been something silly. Maybe she had been impatient. Maybe she hadn’t said anything at all. That frightened her most.

She wanted the last words to have been important. She wanted to have said I love you. She wanted to have said please don’t go. She wanted to have said remember me. But she couldn’t remember.

Tears slipped sideways across her cheeks and disappeared into her pillow. Ginger didn’t call for anyone. She didn’t want someone telling her it would be all right. Because it wasn’t all right.

The next morning, the sun came through the same kitchen window. Bright squares appeared on the floor again. Someone had washed the glass beside the sink and put it away. Outside, birds were singing. Cars went past. Somewhere a dog barked.

For just a second, Ginger expected to hear her name called from the other room.

She listened.

No one called.

Ginger stood at the window and wondered how the whole world could keep going when hers had stopped.

She waited for something to feel different.

Nothing did.

And Ginger still wasn’t ready to say goodbye.