The scarf was tucked in the back of the closet, hidden beneath a stack of winter sweaters Lila would never wear again.
Daniel wasn't sure what made him pull it out—maybe the way the fabric caught the light, a flash of emerald green in the dimness. It was the one she'd worn every fall, the one he'd teased her about because it was "too fancy for someone who mostly worked from home."
"It makes me feel put together," she'd said, wrapping it around his neck and kissing his nose.
Now, he lifted it slowly, half-expecting to smell her perfume—that vanilla-and-lavender scent that had clung to everything she touched. But when he pressed the fabric to his face, there was nothing. Just the faintest hint of detergent and time.
His chest ached.
"Hey, do you have any—" Luke stopped in the doorway, a spoon halfway to his mouth (he'd been eating peanut butter straight from the jar again). His eyes locked onto the scarf. "Oh."
Daniel forced himself to lower it. "You remember this?"
Luke nodded. "She wore it the day she dropped me off at my first high school party." A smirk tugged at his lips. "Embarrassed the shit out of me."
Daniel huffed a laugh. "Sounds like her."
A beat of silence. Then Luke stepped forward, hesitant. "Can I…?"
Daniel handed it over.
Luke held the scarf gingerly, as if it might dissolve between his fingers. He didn't try to smell it. Didn't say anything. Just ran his thumb over the stitching along the edge, his expression unreadable.
Daniel cleared his throat. "You should keep it."
Luke's head snapped up. "What? No, it's—"
"She'd want you to have it."
Luke's throat worked. For a second, Daniel thought he might argue. Then, wordlessly, he folded the scarf and stuffed it into his hoodie pocket, where it would stay for weeks—a secret talisman against forgetting.