Christopher’s name appeared in the packet.

I did not read far enough to understand whether I held a filed petition, a draft, a nomination, or something else.

I saw a child’s photograph, another woman’s letters, a bank record, and my husband’s name beside the word guardianship.

Then I lowered myself onto the bare floor.

“No,” I whispered.

“No, this can’t be happening to us.”

The horn sounded twice in the driveway.

Our familiar signal.