She picked up my plastic paint box and my three brushes and threw them into the big metal trash can in the hallway.”

I looked at the bare top of the bedside table, where his little tin of twelve watercolors had been sitting since Sunday morning.

“She said I wouldn’t be needing them anymore,” Toby whispered, looking straight into my eyes.

“Why did Aunt Brenda do that, Mom?”

I reached out and gently smoothed his soft hair back from his forehead, my thumb resting lightly on the inside of my wrist as I felt the steady beat of my own heart.

“Because she thinks she can take things away from us, Toby,” I said softly.