Six weeks later, at six thirty in the evening, the streetlights flickered on above the courtyard of our new apartment building on Maple Street.

A gray sedan pulled off the main road and stopped by the curb near our parking space.

My father opened the driver’s door and stepped out, wearing a plain gray sweater and dark trousers.

He walked around to the back of Ethan’s pickup truck, where three brown wardrobe boxes were stacked against the tailgate.

The lease on our two-bedroom unit had started on October fifteenth, and almost every room was unpacked.

My father picked up the top wardrobe box, gripping the taped cardboard handles securely.