Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document
“Anything that belongs to the child.”
I climbed the stairs.
Chloe’s bedroom door still had the deadbolt high up on the frame, with an evidence tag dangling from the latch.
The room smelled of stale air and baby shampoo.
I opened the closet and took down her winter coat, two pairs of shoes, and a pile of school drawings from the shelf.
The drawings curled at the corners.
One showed a yellow circle in the corner of a blue sheet, with a little house beneath it.
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