I turned my back on them, and I walked away from the door.

Behind me, my father pounded the glass one last time, and my mother wept loudly, and Sabrina shouted at him, and the three of them dissolved into the ugly, panicked noise of people who have finally understood that they have lost something they can never get back.

I did not turn around.

I walked down the dim hallway, past the bench where Charlotte’s small sneakers still rested sideways, past the hook where Samuel’s blue jacket still hung, and into the bright kitchen.

And there, on the counter, was Jonathan’s coffee cup, where it had sat for six months because I could not bear to move it.