Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document

“I picked up Chloe’s rabbit,” I said, holding Bunny against my coat.

“She doesn’t need that right now,” Victoria said.

I pointed up toward the top of the door frame.

“Why is there a deadbolt locked on a six-year-old’s bedroom door?” I asked.

Victoria’s chest rose and fell in short, tight breaths.

“Chloe has bad anxiety,” she whispered.

“She gets confused at night and wanders through the house.”

“Chloe has never wandered a day in her life,” I said.