The furniture.
The artwork.
The kitchen.
The family photographs.
Everything she believed she was moving into.
None of it belonged to Benjamin.
Not really.
It belonged to me.
The children began crying upstairs.
Nobody moved.
Finally I walked toward the staircase.
Not because they were my responsibility.
Because they were innocent.
The only innocent people in the house.
I lifted the younger child from the crib and carried him downstairs.
Margot started crying harder.
