He put it down inside the door, against the wall, in the place where it would have gone if none of this had happened.

And then he saw the bed.

I watched him take it in in a particular order, and the order mattered.

He looked at me first, for about half a second.

Then he looked at the bassinets, both of them, left and then right.

Then he looked at the photographs spread across my legs, and his whole face came apart.

He did not look at his mother at all.

Not once.