The Signature I Taught Him to Read

I sat in my favorite armchair by the living-room window with a warm cup of tea and watched them work through the glass.

They didn’t look at the house.

They didn’t look at each other.

They looked defeated, and frightened, and stripped entirely of the arrogance that had carried them this far.

I had imagined this moment, in the motel room and in the weeks of preparation — had imagined watching them carry their boxes out of my house under a deputy’s eye — and I had assumed it would feel like a door closing on something.

It did not.