PART 1 — ELEVEN MINUTES

Elena was eleven minutes younger than Chloe.

She was tiny.

Dark hair.

A little crease beside her left eye.

For a very short time, Arthur and I had two daughters.

Then we came home with one.

Afterward, I could not bear to look at the second crib.

I remember standing in the nursery with a screwdriver in my hand, shaking so badly that I stripped one of the screws.

Arthur was away handling arrangements I could not make myself face.

By the time he returned, the crib had been dismantled.

The pale pine rails leaned against the garage wall.

Arthur stood in the doorway.

“You took it down?”

“I couldn’t look at it.”

He stared at the pieces for a long time.

Then nodded.

Neither of us knew what else to say.

We were thirty-one years old.