For Fourteen Years My Son Lived Rent-Free in a House He Believed Was His

The afternoon sky was darkening above the bare trees.

I climbed the wooden steps to the guest apartment.

The rooms were silent and completely dark.

At four o’clock I stepped into the small study.

I switched on the brass desk lamp.

Its light cast a yellow circle across the green leather blotter.

I went to the closet and hauled a heavy metal filing box off the bottom shelf.

I carried it to the desk and set it beside the lamp.