Small girls’ clothes.

Cans of infant formula.

Canned beans, rice, clean folded towels.

And a thick manila folder swollen with legal documents.

For a moment Corwin’s mind simply refused to make sense of it.

He had braced so completely for one thing — flour, sugar, the neat confirmation of his suspicion — that the sight of diapers and formula did not register at first as anything at all, just a wrongness, a category error, the world declining to match the story in his head.