The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat

I took the blanket out and rested the soft fabric on my lap.

I ran my right thumb over the tight yellow stitches of the hat.

For eleven long years, these two things had been a sad memorial to a child I thought was buried in the earth.

I picked up the yellow blanket and folded it carefully in half.

I pressed the fabric completely flat against my knee, lining up the square corners.

I opened the bottom drawer of the wooden end table beside the sofa.