“Violet kept it at the center, clean and folded, for a child who might need something familiar.

Years later, when our social worker asked us to prepare a room for Paige, I brought it home.”

“You never told me it belonged to someone else.”

“I thought it was just a blanket,” he said.

“Until Violet saw the adoption photograph I sent her.”

He looked toward the window, where traffic moved under a bright California sky.

“Rose died when Lucy was little.

Violet lost contact with the family in the chaos that followed.”