I hung up the phone and left her there.

At the house on Maplewood Lane, the front porch light was still burning.

The deputy waited by the door while I packed up the last of the kids’ things.

Micah sat on the living room rug with his empty yellow cereal box pressed to his chest.

Elsie stacked board books next to him, one on top of the other, then swept them over with her wrist.

“Dad,” Micah said.