“There’s nothing left to save,” I told him, and I felt the truth of it settle in me like something finally set down, and I stood up, and I left the man on the platform where he belonged, which was in the past.

Chapter 16 — The Golden Cracks

A month after the divorce was final, a small package arrived with no return address, and inside was the little blue vase — the one that had shattered in our entryway that night — painstakingly glued back together, its cracks traced in gold.

My mother held it in both hands.

“Brandon sent this,” she said.

It wasn’t quite a question.

“Does it bother you to look at it?” I asked.