The Folder My Father Left
It feels like a house being emptied of furniture you never liked but had grown used to.
Behind me I could hear my mother’s voice rising and cracking as the attorneys began, one after another, to explain that they could no longer represent her in a matter involving forged instruments.
I did not turn around.
There was nothing left in that room I wanted, except the one person still sitting at the table with his head in his hands, and I had already told him how to find me.
That night, in the passenger seat of Bettina’s car, my phone buzzed.