When I returned to our red-brick house, the front step looked exactly as it had when we left.

Under the porch bench lay one of Noah’s blue sneakers.

Its Velcro strap was frayed and open.

He had been told to fasten it so many times that the sight of it made me prepare the words again.

I stopped before I said them.

The matching shoe was farther under the bench, hidden from where I first stood.

I did not find it until later.

I knelt beside the concrete step and touched the canvas.