PART 1 — THE BACKYARD

I came home after four years working in Germany and found my wife on her knees in the dirt.

For several seconds, I did not recognize her.

That is the part I still hate admitting.

The woman in front of me was painfully thin.

A loose gray sweater hung from her shoulders as if it belonged to someone twice her size.

Her face had hollowed around her cheekbones.

A pale scarf covered her head, but part of it had slipped back enough for me to see that most of her hair was gone.

She was picking pieces of bread from the ground beside a shattered plate.

My mother stood above her.

Watching.

“She brought this on herself.”

Selina said it without emotion.

Neither woman had seen me.

My younger brother, Godfrey, stood near the patio doors with a glass of whiskey in one hand.

He looked different too.

New watch.

Tailored shirt.

Designer shoes.