The certified sole custody decree was still inside, stamped in thick blue ink by the county clerk.

The late sun sat low behind the bare oaks at Oakridge Community Park.

The digital sign in front of the rec center flashed six thirty.

Michael sat on a green wooden bench near the empty playground.

Noah sat right next to him.

Noah held a small, warm apple juice box in his left hand.

The paper straw was chewed flat at the top.

His right arm lay carefully across his stomach, the white fiberglass cast catching the last orange sunlight.