The smell of pine needles and damp wool filled the cold vestibule.

“Your father made selfish choices eight years ago,” I said.

“It has nothing to do with your house, your clothes, or your report card.”

“He looked at us like we were broke,” Henry said.

I adjusted my wristwatch, feeling the cold steel buckle press into my skin.

“He looked at you and saw eight years of his own cowardice.”

Henry rubbed his thumb over the gold button on his coat sleeve.

“Grandmother cried when she looked at my eyes.”